The Quid Pro Quo Job
by Rorke's Drift
Summary: Nothing stays the same forever. When Nate and Sophie left the team, changes were inevitable. Members of the team had to learn new skills - or dust off old ones. Eliot-centric, but a team fic - hopefully with a little something for everyone!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All the standard disclaimers about these characters not belonging to me and this work not being for profit apply. All characters will be returned to their box in mint condition when I am done playing with them.

The first time the holidays rolled around after she and Nate retired from Leverage and Associates, Inc., Sophie tried to get the crew back together for a family Christmas. Her first mistake was recruiting Eliot to help. Her second was to start early. This gave Eliot plenty of time to drop hints to Hardison about the romantic opportunities inherent in Christmas in Europe – and to remind Parker of the many spires and towers there from which Hardison had not yet rappelled. In the end, Nate and Sophie had a quiet Christmas at home; Hardison and Parker started in Vienna on Christmas Eve and had made their way – via several tall buildings – to London by New Year's Day; and Eliot spent his holiday week pursuing unnamed activities in an undisclosed location. The second year, realising that the promise of free rein in her kitchen and all the exotic ingredients he could dream up was not enough to make Eliot her ally, Sophie planned better and ran it like a con.

She started with Parker, ready to sell her on a combination of Dickensian images of golden-cooked gooses and Hollywood's best portrayal of the happy family holiday reunion, complete with snowball fights and homemade popcorn balls. As it turned out, all she needed was the question "Why don't you, Hardison and Eliot spend Christmas at our house this year?" And when Parker's excited squeals brought Hardison into the room where they were video-chatting, nothing more than an explanation of their cause was needed to get Hardison on board. Nate was ready to indulge Sophie with her family Christmas fantasies, but not really taking an active role in the planning. That left Eliot. And given that, in the past year, Sophie had barely managed to keep him on the phone for more than the thirty seconds it took to ascertain that nobody at either end of the line was dead or dying, she needed Parker and Hardison to persuade him. First came a carefully-timed video call to the Leverage offices when all three of them were there and Eliot had no excuse for cutting it short. Sophie snuck in the suggestion for Christmas, Parker responded with a toned-down version of her original reaction with back-up from Hardison, and Eliot...

"Bad idea," he growled.

His comment was met with a chorus of protests. When they died down, Sophie heard a very pointed "We've talked about this before, Hardison," followed by "Bye, Soph," and the sound of a door opening and closing.

"I guess Eliot's playing the Grinch this Christmas," Parker said into the silence that followed.

Sophie smiled a little.

"Well, we still have three weeks to persuade him," she said. "What is it you've talked about before, Hardison?"

Hardison sighed.

"He thinks that maintaining contact with you and Nate makes you guys targets for anyone trying to get to us."

"And I don't suppose Nate and I get a say in whether we feel it's worth that risk?" Sophie was indignant. She had never particularly appreciated other people making decisions about her life for her.

Hardison shrugged.

"It's Eliot, Sophie," he said. "You look 'paranoia' up in the dictionary, and there's his picture, right there."

"Mmm," she replied, non-comitally.

"So what do we do?" Parker asked.

Sophie turned her attention to the blonde thief perched on the comms centre.

"I'll try calling him," she said. "In the meantime, Parker, you do whatever it is you do to get him to make you cookies – only this time work on getting him to come for Christmas, okay?"

"Okay," Parker said, hopping down to follow Eliot.

"Not right now, Parker," Sophie stopped her. "Just...when the opportunity presents itself."

"Oh," Parker stopped. "Okay. This is going to work, right? Because I really miss you guys."

"We miss you, too, Parker," Sophie told her. "You could come and visit again in the meantime if you have some downtime."

Parker brightened

"Thanks, Sophie," she said. "But I have to stay here and make Eliot want Christmas. Tell Nate hi from me!"

And before Hardison had a chance to do more than wave good-bye, she ended the call.


	2. Chapter 2

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: So, just a couple of pieces of information you may or may not find useful. First, as I discovered when splitting it into chapters, this somehow turned into a monster fic of 26 chapters. It is finished, and edited (although not "beta-ed" so the errors are all my own). Now I just have to remember to keep logging in to post more chapters. As a sign of good faith, here's another one immediately!_

"Don't hang up," Sophie said as soon as Eliot picked up the phone. She had waited a week to give Parker's pleading, I-never-had-a-puppy-as-a-child eyes time to work their magic.

"Sophie?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said, somewhere between exasperated and amused at his predictable opening. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you said 'don't hang up' before you even got around to 'hello'," he growled.

"Well, maybe I thought you'd hang up on me when I said 'hello'," Sophie teased him.

Eliot sighed.

"What's this about, Soph? 'Cause if nothing's wrong, I'm kind of busy here."

"No you're not," Sophie called him on the white lie.

No response.

"I just spoke to Parker," Sophie continued. "She says you're weeding your garden."

Still nothing.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah, well, weeding is important."

"Yes it is," Sophie let her smile warm the colour of her voice. "But it's also something you can keep doing while you talk to me."

That earned her a chuckle, at least.

"Okay, you got me," he admitted. "What are we talking about?"

"I was thinking, Christmas," Sophie replied.

"I already told you it's a bad idea," Eliot said.

"Yes, and Hardison attempted to explain the logic behind that," Sophie told him. "I can't say I really get it."

"What's to get, Sophie? If we start visiting for the holidays and acting like a family or something, and word gets around, then you guys become targets for people trying to stop us from doing what we're doing – and all of us become targets for the various people we've all pissed off over the years who might be looking for revenge."

"After the five years we worked together and practically lived in each others' back pockets, I hardly think our connection's a secret."

Eliot sighed in frustration.

"Not as teammates, but doing the holidays looks a whole lot more like family. And there are miles between 'teammates' and 'family' when you're looking to make someone do or not do something. It's just not safe."

"Parker and Hardison have been visiting for almost two years, and nothing's happened."

"I know," Eliot growled, two-years' worth of frustration vibrating in his voice. "I've told them they need to stop, but they won't listen."

"Okay, but since they have been visiting, all of you coming for Christmas can't really add much to the risk."

"Adding any risk is still stupid."

"Then why do you still pick up when I call?"

Silence.

"Eliot?"

"You know why."

"I want to hear you say it." Sophie knew she was pushing it, so she was surprised when five seconds later she was still hearing him breathe, rather than the quiet click of a cell phone disconnecting. Two seconds after that, she was speechless when he actually answered.

"Because you might need my kind of help," he told her.

"Well, exactly," Sophie said when her brain and voice were both working again. "Family."

She paused, lining up her next point of attack.

"We're all adults, Eliot," she continued. "And we understand the risks, but I think you're undervaluing how important spending time with the people you care about is."

"You understand the risks?" Eliot laughed mirthlessly. "Sophie, if that were true there is no way you would think a family vacation is worth it... You saw what not being able to save his son did to Nate. Do you really want to find out what it's like knowing you're the reason someone you cared about suffered or died?"

Silence.

"So we're clear? No more Christmas plans or invitations to swing by and play happy families?"

"Is that why you haven't gone back to see you dad again?" Sophie asked. "Hardison mentioned you went to visit after that job we pulled near the end with that chain of discount stores," she continued when he didn't snap back that it was none of her business. "But none of you have said anything about visits to or from Oklahoma since then."

No answer, but no sudden click of the line being disconnected either. Sophie could feel Eliot weighing his response in the silence that followed. Could he get away with a lie? What version of the truth – or untruth – would best serve the message he was trying to pound into Sophie's head?

"He told you not to come back?" Sophie hazarded a guess, before he could settle on an answer. She didn't think that was what happened. From the few details Hardison had gleaned and shared, Eliot's father sounded like a good man for whom she would have expected to family loyalty to win out, even if there was the awkwardness of an 18-year-old argument standing in the way.

"We didn't discuss it," Eliot finally ground out. "But that trip reminded me I had good reasons for staying away and that those haven't changed."

The truth, then.

"Eliot..." Sophie started, but her compassionate tone warned Eliot they were about to wander onto emotional ground he did not need to dig over.

"Don't, Sophie," he cut her off.

"Okay," she replied after a moment, business-like again. "But assuming their safety is one of the reasons you stay away from your family, that doesn't mean that you need to do the same with us. We're all professional crooks, Eliot. We're a lot less defenceless than your average citizens – and a lot better at staying under radars we don't want to show up on."

"So let me guess, you still think Christmas is a good idea?"

"I do," Sophie affirmed, letting a little bit of excitement start creeping back into her voice. "Think about it, Eliot, and not just from the security point of view. You and I might have had good family Christmases growing up, and Nate had at least some – and more later with Maggie and Sam. But I don't think Hardison had many, and I'm sure Parker had none. So think about what this means to all of us, and to the two of them in particular, before you say again that it's a bad idea...Besides, I'm fairly sure the others are coming anyway, and it won't feel right if you're not there."

In the pause that followed Sophie read the full week's worth of Parker's efforts at convincing Eliot they really did need to go "home" for Christmas.

"I'll think about it," he said gruffly at last. "But don't think I didn't recognise your 'con' voice there."

"Good," Sophie replied, ignoring his second comment and confident that she could leave the remaining persuasion to Parker's mournful gazes and Hardison's threats of electronic retribution should Eliot choose to spoil Parker's Christmas fantasy. "Now, how is everything else going? Is the brewpub still getting rave reviews – for the food if not for the "thief juice"? And "Leverage International"? Busier than ever, I suspect. You looked tired the other day when I caught the three of you on the video conference."

"I work with Hardison and Parker, Sophie, and both of them consume their bodyweight in sugar and caffeine every day. 'Tired' is how you're supposed to look under those conditions," Eliot growled in annoyance, and hung up on her.


	3. Chapter 3

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

Eliot couldn't be sure – and he certainly wasn't going to ask – but he was ninety percent convinced that Hardison picked their next job primarily based on the opportunities for him and Parker to annoy Eliot about Christmas. It was a small town job, in a town that took its responsibility of presenting a wholesome picture of small town life very seriously, even if some of the newer citizens– like their mark – moving in as it slowly transformed into a commuter town couldn't maintain more than a veneer. There was a Christmas tree in every window, red bows on the white picket fences, and flyers on the lampposts advertising Christmas markets, a Nativity play, and a "Carols by Candlelight" concert in the town square. Eliot bargained attendance of the last with Parker for a moratorium on mention of anything else Christmas related until they were finished with the job and on their way home. Parker kept her end of the bargain – and Hardison seem to decide it applied to him too – but Eliot didn't find the relief he expected in the ceasefire. Instead, their silence drew his attention to the way their gazes lingered on the families with young children sledding on the hill, and the joyful reunions as older-model cars with bumper stickers declaring allegiance to various colleges and universities pulled into driveways, the honking horns prompting parents, grandparents, siblings and neighbours to spill from the houses. Eliot refused to dwell on it, though. They had a job to do, and their mark believed in modern security measures – including well-trained, armed security guards – quite as much as he did in projecting his image as the patriarch at the head of the table in the family homestead. It was Eliot's job to keep Parker and Hardison safe. So he pushed the echo of Sophie's voice telling him that Parker and Hardison needed to build memories of family to a corner of his mind, along with the thoughts of how after two years of running interference for the two of them without back-up he was feeling every day of the four years he had on Parker - and the twelve on Hardison. The endless stream of clients needing Leverage International's services now, not next week when they would have had a little downtime for something more than making sure the Brewpub kept running as a convincing front for their operation, was not something he could contemplate. He kept his head down and his eyes on the current job and the ever-present threats, trusting Hardison's webcrawlers and algorithms to somehow sort out who made it to the top of their list.

By the end of the job he was seeing signs of the same weariness in Parker, and it was that as much as the need to kept his end of the deal with her that made him agree to stay the extra night to watch the town light its tree and sing carols. It wasn't a spectacular tree like New York or Boston might have on display, but he could see the wonder on children's faces above their candles and the contentment of _tradition-and-home-and-family_ on the adults'. He saw something of the same in Parker and Hardison when Hardison turned them around to snap a picture of the two of them twined around each other in front of the tree on his smartphone; felt it when, halfway through the fourth carol, Parker's hand snuck into his pocket and wrapped her fingers around his. And maybe it was largely the vertigo lingering from the blow he'd taken behind his right ear during his encounter with the mark's security guards the night before, but there was a surreal sense to the evening that had him thinking maybe Sophie was right about time spent with family being as important as keeping them secure. Parker didn't let go when the singing ended, and since "Christmas" and "snow" in her mind required the matching set of "hot chocolate" and "marshmallows", Eliot found himself being tugged towards the diner on the opposite side of the square.

Sitting in a booth with snowflakes drifting past the window beside him, and Parker peering at him over the mountain of whipped cream and marshmallows topping her mug, Eliot had to admit the mug of hot tea his hands were wrapped around felt pretty good. Hardison had opted for his usual orange soda, and was inhaling it between flurries of tapping at his phone's screen as he traced the follow through from their afternoon's activities. Listening only enough to know that the pieces were falling in place as they should, Eliot let the "geek spiral" part of the monologue wash over him. Parker's attention, meanwhile, had been drawn to the television in the corner of the restaurant. Turning to see what had captured her interest, Eliot saw nothing but a coffee commercial. Watching a moment longer, he realised it wasn't the coffee Parker was interested in but the cameo of the family waiting for its missing member to return for the holidays – complete with a coffee-scented happy ending. He wasn't surprised then, when, as the commercial ended, Parker asked if the job was over and they could talk about Christmas again.

Eliot sighed.

"I can't stop you," he admitted.

"Be right back, then," Parker said, sliding out of the booth.

Hardison looked up from his phone as she left.

"What was that about?" he asked.

Eliot shrugged and leant back in his seat. He was pretty sure he knew where this was leading, but didn't feel the need to explain. He closed his eyes for a moment as the restaurant lurched to the left and started a lazy spin around him. He heard Hardison say something, but couldn't puzzle out enough meaning from it to formulate a more appropriate answer than "Mmmm."

He received a sharp kick to his ankle for his trouble and opened his eyes to glare at Hardison.

"I said," Hardison repeated himself, enunciating clearly, "are you okay, or do we need to reconsider getting your head looked at?"

Eliot knew there was a smart reply somewhere to the second half of that question, but producing any reply seemed more important than figuring out what is was.

"I'm fine," he growled.

Hardison peered at him doubtfully, but before either of them could say anything more, Parker reappeared at the table. She didn't say anything, just fiddled with something in her pocket for a moment and then darted a hand out to stick a red bow in the middle of Hardison's forehead.

"Wh-what the -?" he stuttered.

Eliot smirked a little.

"It's that coffee commercial, man," he explained. "You know, the one where the girl waits up all night for her brother, and he gets there right as the coffee is brewing and she sticks a bow on him and tells him he's her present?"

Parker nodded and smiled, and reached across the table to stick a shiny gold bow on Eliot's forehead.

Hardison's expression transitioned seamlessly from confusion to understanding to amusement at the sight of Eliot scowling under his gold bow.

"This your way of asking if we'll come home for Christmas, mama?" Hardison asked Parker. She nodded, and he looked back across at Eliot.

"Well, she already knows I'm going," he said, "so this must be for you."

Eliot pulled the bow from his forehead, rubbing the shiny ribbon lightly between his finger and thumb. He looked back up at Parker and saw the uncertainty in her eyes in the moment before she dropped her gaze to the third bow, a blue one she was fingering nervously. And that look, that question of whether she could be anyone's present the way she had just told them they were hers, was the deciding factor: hurting her like that was just as bad as getting any of them injured or killed. Her fingers stilled as Eliot reached across to take the blue bow from them. He fumbled for a moment, then found a spot where he could slide his fingernail under the sticky backing, peeled it off, and stuck the bow firmly in the centre of Parker's forehead.

"Okay," he told her. "We'll go."


	4. Chapter 4

_See Chapter 1 for Disclaimers. _

_Author's note: To those who have reviewed: Thank you! Anyone else notice that he chapters seem to be getting progressively longer? At this rate, I shudder to think what the word count on the finale will be!  
_

There were only three days left before Christmas, and they were less than five hours' drive from New York, so flying back to Portland only to get on another plane heading east seemed rather pointless. Eliot did, however, insist that they drive the hour back to the city they had flown into to exchange their rental car for one with four-wheel drive since the forecast called for more snow in the next few days. And, anyway, it couldn't hurt to lay a false trail of their destination...

The hour that added in each direction meant they faced a full day of driving, but for once Hardison had no complaints about the early start. He packed everything the night before and was actually the one knocking on Eliot's door at the time they had agreed to leave the next morning. Of course, this was the one time Eliot wouldn't have minded the excuse for an hour's delay the hacker's oversleeping would have offered: a night of ibuprofen and ice-packs had done less for the headache and waves of vertigo left from the day before than he had hoped. He was fully packed, though, so when Hardison knocked he shouldered his duffle and followed the younger man out to the car. Parker, even more uncharacteristically, was already in the car. Grateful as Eliot was that they wouldn't have to go through the usual routine of tracking her down and corralling her into the car, he was not sure how the fact she was dressed as an elf and was busy scrolling through the playlist on an mp3 player boded for the day's journey...He dropped his duffle in the trunk with the other bags and equipment and slid into the backseat, letting Hardison take the wheel for the trip back to airport.

Twenty-two Christmas songs later, they reached the airport and split up: Hardison to return their rental car and perform the electronic magic needed to send their current aliases away on the flight they had booked heading west, Eliot to rent an SUV better equipped for winter highway driving from a different agency under a different alias, and Parker to ... well, Eliot didn't really want to speculate about what Parker might get up to in an airport fully decked out for Christmas. She was still on her best behaviour, though – presumably worried about Santa's second check of the Naughty & Nice list; so with the added promise of breakfast once they cleared the city again included in his text telling them which arrivals gate he would pick them up at, Eliot wasn't too surprised to find her waiting with Hardison when he pulled up. They repeated the ritual of stowing the luggage and themselves in the vehicle, this time with Eliot behind the wheel and Parker in the back seat, and then Eliot eased the SUV back into the holiday airport traffic. By the time they were once again exiting the airport, Eliot realized that Parker had somehow bypassed their change in seating arrangements and connected her Christmas songs to the sound system. Her governing principle was quantity rather than quality, so Eliot fiddled with the radio controls until he had the balance shifted far enough to the rear speakers that he could turn the volume down to the point that little more than a murmur reached his ear without drawing scowls from the thief in the back seat.

Once they got on the highway and were leaving the city behind them, Hardison turned his attention to the important matter of breakfast – helpfully pointing out the exit signs for pancake and waffle houses. Eliot thought about it, weighing the merits of a hot breakfast against the heavy look to the clouds and the fat snowflakes that were starting to drift down. The weather wasn't supposed to get particularly bad anywhere on their route, but snow flurries were moving in steadily from the west.

"Y'all okay with eating on the road?" he asked. "I want to stay ahead of the snow if we can."

Neither Hardison nor Parker had any objections, so Eliot took the next off-ramp advertising a fast food chain he recognized and pulled into the drive-through lane. He discovered the flaw in his plan when he heard the vile combination of foods the two of them selected – French toast strips, chicken-'n-biscuits, a vanilla milkshake, and a kiddie meal burger and fries with extra pickles. Snow or not, they were going to have to crack a window or two to avoid death by grease asphyxiation. Eliot felt Hardison's gaze sharpen on him as he placed his own order for hot tea and an English muffin, lingering no doubt on the purpling bruise that spread down his neck from behind his right ear.

"You want me to drive?" Hardison asked, as they inched forward in the line to pay for pick up their food.

Eliot thought about it, looking from Hardison to the snow drifting lazily past the windshield.

"You driven much in snow?" Eliot asked. "Outside of cities, I mean?"

Hardison had opened his mouth to attest to his vast experience with winter weather driving, but had to change it to a shake of his head with that amendment. He was a city kid, through and through, and his experience with long empty stretches of highway in any weather was limited to say the least.

"I'm okay for now," Eliot told him. "Might need to switch out later though."

Hardison nodded.

"All right," he said. "Just let me know, man."

"I could drive," Parker piped up from the back seat.

"No," the other two replied unanimously, then turned their attention to the cashier who was passing bags of food through the window, pointedly cutting off further discussion of the issue.

Once they had eaten – and made a quick stop in a rest area to dispose of the greasy remnants and blow some fresh air through the SUV – the three of them fell into a comfortable silence. Hardison was intent on something on the tablet he had rested on his knee (Eliot hoped it was a game or some new refinement to Hardison's customized software rather than anything likely to contravene national security); Parker had sung along to a few Christmas carols, called Sophie, tried to embroil the boys in games of I Spy and Twenty Questions, and then finally lapsed into either a catnap or daydreams about the latest security systems installed in the New York museums; and Eliot was concentrating on the road, trying to find the easy rhythm of a long drive, looking for something to ease the tension he could feel growing inside him with each passing mile. It wasn't a good drive for relaxing, though. Between the snow and the holiday traffic and the headache pulsing behind his eyes it had a better recipe for sparking frustration than easing it. By the third hour, they seemed to have left the snow flurries behind them but Eliot could hear Parker awake and shifting restlessly in the seat behind him, and the vague queasiness of his headache had slid back into intermittent vertigo. Alone and on an empty road he might have continued, but he had Parker and Hardison with him and traffic was getting heavier as they reached more populous areas. There were billboards advertising a travel stop ahead so he passed up the next two exits in its favour, hoping it would offer enough space or a children's playground or something where Parker could work off some excess energy. Fate was apparently smiling on him on that score, at least. The first thing he saw as he took the off-ramp was a large playground filled with children in brightly coloured winter jackets and clusters of frazzled-looking parents off to the side. Next to that was usual collection of gas pumps, fast food restaurants, and shops filled with sugar and tourist-trap curios. Eliot pulled up next to a gas pump and shut off the engine. Parker was already halfway out the door.

"Snowball fight!" she called over her shoulder, taking off immediately for the playground.

"Huh-what?" Hardison looked up from whatever he had been reading on his tablet as the door slammed, looking around as if surprised to find they weren't moving anymore. He fumbled with the latch on his seatbelt, then the door. "Woman, wait up!"

Eliot let them go. He took his time getting out of the car, stretching out the kinks left by three hours of driving, and letting the cold air blow the cobwebs from his head. He filled the tank, then moved the car from the gas pumps to the adjacent parking lot. He took the chance to snag Parker's mp3 player from the backseat and slide it into his pocket. A few hours free from the endless awful Christmas songs would be good for everyone's sanity. Then he went inside to find the restroom and a bottle of water.

He ran into Hardison as he walked out of the shop where he'd bought the water. Hardison was exiting the candy store next to it, which apparently had an impressive range of gummy frog colours.

"Parker's still outside," Hardison continued when he had exhausted the frog topic. "I think she's starting the snowball version of World War Three out there...It might be a while before we can drag her away."

"There's no rush," Eliot shrugged.

"I'm going to go find sandwiches or something for lunch. You want anything?" Hardison asked.

"Nah." Eliot had just finished losing most of what he had eaten for breakfast. "I'll be outside when you're ready to go."

"Okay, cool," Hardison said. "Watch out for the snowballs."

Hardison turned toward the food court area and Eliot had a sudden thought.

"Hey, Hardison?" he called out, and waited for the younger man to turn around. "Do us both a favour and don't get Parker anything with sugar, okay?"

Hardison flashed him a thumbs up, then continued on his way. Eliot made his way out to the picnic tables. Unsurprisingly, given the cold, grey weather, few of them were occupied. He brushed a light dusting of snow off a section of one of the tables and attached benches and sat down. Over to his right, Hardison's prediction of a snowy World War Three seemed to be coming true – he just couldn't quite tell if Parker was playing the part of commanding general, the French Resistance, or agent provocateur. Whatever. So long as she burned off enough energy to prevent another three hours of endless twitching and shifting and demands to play car games. He broke the seal on the water bottle, uncapped it and took a sip. He leant back against the table behind him and let his eyes drift almost closed.

"Hey."

Eliot flinched as Parker materialised in front of him.

"Parker," he growled. "Don't do that!"

"Did I startle you?" Parker asked, pleased with herself. "That's the second time! Last time Sophie said you were nervous. Are you nervous now, Eliot?"

"No," Eliot sighed, leaving it at that. "What do you want, Parker?"

"Do you want to come join the snowball fight?" she asked. "I'm winning."

"Good for you."

"So do you want to play? You can be on my team."

He looked at her. He was just curious enough to ask.

"Which one's your team?"

"All of them," she replied. "Or just me."

Eliot smirked a little. That sounded about right.

"Doesn't sound like you need me."

Parker shrugged.

"It would be more fun," she told him.

"Maybe next time."

He thought Parker would go back to pelting small children with snowballs, but instead she cleared a seat next to him and sat down. He looked over at her curiously.

"You've gone all quiet," Parker said.

He frowned at her.

"Hardison's the talker," he said.

"No, I mean quiet like when you're doing one of the 'us' things – the things the others can't. And I don't get it because we're not doing anything, are we? We're just going home for Christmas, and that's an 'everybody' thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Parker, that's what we're doing."

"So what's wrong, then?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you all quiet?"

Eliot growled in frustration. He really did not want to get into this with Parker. He leant forward, elbows on his knees and the bridge of his nose pinched between the forefinger and thumb of one hand. He took a couple of deep breaths, reining in his temper.

"Look, I have a headache, all right?" he said. "And before you start poking, yes, that bruise hurts."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Parker's hand, index finger extended, drop back into her lap.

"So if I'm 'quiet'," he continued, "it's just because of that, okay?"

Parker nodded. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Hardison showed up just then, laden with sandwiches, chips and drinks.

"I got roast beef and turkey," he told Parker, handing her the bag of food. "Take your pick."

On his way around to the other side of the table, he nudged the hand Eliot still had in front of his face with a Starbucks cup.

"They had that tea you keep at the office, so I got you some."

"Thanks," Eliot said, fingers reflexively opening then closing again around the warmth of the cup.

"No problem," Hardison said, settling in on the other side of the table. Parker turned around to face him, exchanging the second sandwich for one of the sodas he still held. He asked her who had won the snowball fight, but after that conversation mostly lapsed into the contented sounds of chewing.

They didn't linger long over lunch. It was too cold to stay still for very long outside and be comfortable, and tiny flakes of snow were once again starting to drift down. Eliot stirred and half-turned to look at the others when he heard the sounds of them gathering up wrappers and napkins. He drained the last of his tea from the cup.

"We ready to get back on the road?" he asked.

Parker nodded around the last bite of her sandwich, but pointed towards the buildings to say she was going inside first.

"We'll meet you at the car," Hardison told her, and she took off.

Hardison dropped their bag of trash in a nearby rubbish bin, then fell into step beside Eliot, heading back to the car park.

"What do you think our chances are of her not noticing the candy store?" he asked.

Eliot grimaced, but the inevitability of Parker returning with bags of chocolate made replying unnecessary.

"Does that program you used to get the directions say anything about the traffic up ahead?" he asked instead.

Hardison took his phone out and pulled up the navigator he was using.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said. "It's now predicting about two-and-a-half more hours instead of three."

Eliot grunted, then fished the car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Hardison.

Hardison took them, surprise raising his eyebrows. On long trips, Eliot seldom surrendered the wheel to anyone else.

"You sure you don't have concussion?" Hardison asked.

"I'm sure."

"It's just, you're not eating, and you want me to drive, and you look a little green, man," Hardison continued, not entirely reassured.

Eliot sighed.

"Headache," he said. "And vertigo, because apparently that guy got me in the right place to mess with my ear."

Hardison winced a little in sympathy.

"You need anything?" he asked.

"It'll clear up," Eliot replied, and with that the subject was closed.

"They have a whole wall of m&ms in there," Parker announced as she bounced into the car, "and another one of Skittles!"

She started pulling bags of different coloured candies from her pockets, and Eliot and Hardison's eyes met in the rearview mirror. The remainder of the drive suddenly looked a lot longer.

"Oh, here."

The warning came just too late for Eliot to avoid the white package flying towards his face. He caught it as it bounced off his forehead.

"Parker!" he groused reflexively. Then, looking down, he recognised it as a disposable coldpack. "Oh, thanks." He cracked it, and applied it to the bruise running down behind his ear. Parker was occupied with her bags of multi-coloured candy, and the highway traffic and tiny drifting snowflakes were nothing Hardison couldn't handle, so he scrunched down in his seat, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing, willing the rocking, swirling, falling sensation and accompanying nausea to subside. The quiet was shattered by a sudden blast of deafening music from directly behind his seat. Parker's mp3 player was miraculously still in his pocket, so at least it wasn't Christmas music. Still...

"Hardison!"

"Sorry, sorry," Hardison muttered, fumbling for the radio controls to shift the sound balance back to the front speakers and turning the volume down until the angry blue glare in the rearview mirror was once again shuttered by eyelids.

The remainder of the drive passed peacefully, Parker being more interested in sorting and resorting the m&ms and Skittles according to the changing whims of her fancy than eating very many of them. As they took the final turn down Nate and Sophie's street, Hardison's glance in the rearview mirror caught an unexpected sight that had him taking a second look and his lips quirking up in a smirk.

"Hey," he nudged Parker. "Don't say anything, just turn around and get a picture," he muttered in an undertone.

Parker whipped her head around. She had just enough time to get her phone out and snap a picture of Eliot curled up on the backseat napping like a four-year-old before the long-melted coldpack came flying at her.

"Ow!" she exclaimed. "How do you do that with your eyes closed?"

"Doesn't matter," he growled at her. "What matters is what I'll do if you don't delete that picture."

She met his glare for a few seconds with one of her own.

"Fine," she huffed. She fiddled with the phone for a moment, then tossed it to him. "Deleted. See?"

Eliot grunted. The phone did show Parker had deleted the picture, but...He flipped to a different screen. Only after she sent it to Nate and Sophie, apparently.

Parker grinned.

"Come on," she said, opening her door. "We're here!"


	5. Chapter 5

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

Hardison had called when they stopped for lunch, so Sophie knew roughly when her three former teammates were likely to arrive. She was making tea, pointedly not watching the clock, when Parker's text arrived. She opened the message, smiling to herself at the picture of Eliot curled up in the backseat. She heard Nate's phone beep from where he was playing an online chess game in the living room, followed by the muffled thump of car doors closing outside.

Nate appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"We should probably get out there before Eliot discovers what Parker did and kills her," he said.

"Yes, we should," Sophie agreed, turning the stove off and removing the kettle she had been boiling.

They snagged winter coats from the hooks in the front hall and stepped out onto the front porch. Nate had shovelled the path leading to the driveway where a blue SUV was currently parked, but Parker headed straight towards them across the snowy lawn.

"Sophie! Nate!" She swept them each into a startling, vigorous, but awkward embrace. "We're here for Christmas! Happy Christmas! Are we in time to decorate the tree?"

"Hi, Parker," Sophie laughed, stumbling a little under the force of the embrace. "We haven't even bought a tree yet, so you're in plenty of time for decorating."

Parker gave an ecstatic grin, and Sophie left her to greet Nate, stepping around the younger women to meet Hardison as he came up the path leading to the front porch.

"Hardison," she hugged him – a much calmer exchange than Parker's greeting. "Happy Christmas! I'm so glad you could come this year. We need a proper Christmas again."

"Does that mean we're planning another Santa heist?" Hardison asked, giving her an extra squeeze before releasing the hug. "I wouldn't miss that for the world!"

"No heist," Sophie swatted his arm in mock reproach. "Just a proper Christmas with good food and better company."

Hardison laughed.

"I give it two days before someone comes up with a job we need to do," he told her. "You really think Nate can resist the opportunity of having us all back together at the time of year when more corporate scams are in play than any other, and the joy of Christmas is at stake?"

"Oooh," Sophie grumbled – amused, but also annoyed by the fact there was a good chance he was right. She gave him a little push towards where Nate still stood on the front porch. "Go tell him hello, but don't give him any ideas!" she warned.

Hardison chuckled and moved away to greet Nate, leaving Sophie to turn her attention to where Eliot hung back by the car. He was leaning casually against the rear passenger door, arms folded across his chest, watching the scene before him, apparently impassively. Sophie tucked her hands into her coat pockets and waited for his gaze to settle on hers. His expression didn't change, but Sophie smiled and sauntered down the path towards him. His eyes tracked hers as she approached, although she had no doubt he was cataloguing every detail of her movement and still keeping track of Nate, Hardison and Parker behind her. Sophie ignored all that, keeping her own focus on maintaining the connection. She hadn't thought she could forget the intensity of his scrutiny on the occasions he engaged in it openly, but she had at the very least misremembered it.

Sophie stopped half a step in front of and to Eliot's left – close enough to touch but not so close they were crowding each other.

"You came," she said.

That earned her a miniscule half-shrug, but his gaze did flicker off hers for a moment.

"Yeah."

Sophie waited, letting the weight of her own gaze draw the majority of his attention to her.

"Thank you," she said, giving the quiet words the full warmth of her heartfelt sincerity. He looked between her and the scene behind her where Hardison and Nate were slowly approaching and Parker was disappearing around a corner into the backyard.

"You were right," he admitted, nodding towards the others. "They need this."

"But you don't?" Sophie questioned, wry ruefulness anticipating his automatic, annoyed denial. It didn't come. Instead she got a hand gently squeezing her elbow as he pushed himself fully upright and unfolded his arms.

"I don't," he told her, the cold, clear truth of it sweeping the sentimentality she was holding onto from under her feet. But as she struggled to find new footing, he threw her a lifeline. "But maybe I needed to give this to them. So, for that, thank you."

Sophie frowned at him. She didn't – couldn't—doubt the truth of what he was telling her, but she also couldn't quite wrap her mind around the pieces hidden under his words.

"And that's enough?" she asked doubtfully.

She would never know why that question made Eliot laugh, but it was a proper laugh – not cynical or bitter or mocking – so she let him close the conversation with nothing more than a "Yeah, Sophie, that's enough."

"So, do I get a hug hello?" she asked, pulling her hands from her coat pockets.

Eliot stepped forward to comply, then stopped with his hands on her shoulders, gaze sharpening well below her eye-line as her unbuttoned coat fell open. He looked back up at her face.

"When – " he started.

"Shhh," Sophie shushed him hurriedly, hearing Nate and Hardison approaching. "How did you know?"

Eliot smirked.

"It's a very distinctive – " he cut himself off in the face of Sophie's warning glare. "Glow?" he finished.

"Nate freaking out?" Eliot asked after a moment.

Sophie rolled her eyes and nodded.

"And we're barely at three months, right now," she confided. "He's going to be unbearable by the end."

Eliot chuckled.

"He'll be okay," he said. "But if you need someone to knock some sense into him..."

Sophie smiled.

"Thanks," she said. "But I think I can manage him. From the hips, right? Just like you taught me."

Eliot chuckled again.

"I'm sure you can," he said, and drew her into a gentle hug. "Congratulations, Sophie."

The quiet yearning under his words left Sophie momentarily speechless, so she just wrapped her arms around him a little tighter for a moment, whispered "Don't tell the others yet," and let go.

Nate and Hardison were opening the back of the SUV.

"Nate," Eliot greeted the older man.

"Eliot," Nate acknowledged, reaching over to squeeze Eliot's closest shoulder. "Everything good?"

"Yeah," Eliot replied, and moved to help them unload the luggage. As he turned, Sophie got her first look at the dark purple bruise that now extended from behind Eliot's right ear all the way down to his collar bone.

"Eliot," she gasped, reaching out without thinking to touch it.

He ducked away, catching her wrist before her fingers could make contact. He loosened his hold almost immediately, and Sophie retracted her hand.

"Sorry," Eliot said. "But if you start poking at it like Parker we're both going to end up on the ground."

Sophie smiled wanly.

Nate moved around to Eliot's right. Eliot held still just long enough for him to get a decent look at the bruise.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Lucky shot with a nightstick," Eliot said briefly, pulling a bag from the trunk of the SUV. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Hardison snorted.

"You mean apart from the vertigo?"

Eliot glared at him.

"It'll clear up."

He looked back at Nate and Sophie. Sophie was eyeing him worriedly; Nate, assessingly.

Eliot sighed.

"Look," he said, "I'm fine, I've had worse, and this is nothing to worry about."

Nate studied him a moment longer, then gave a quick nod.

"Okay," he said. "How about we get all this stuff inside?"

As Nate spoke, Parker appeared through the front door.

"What's taking you guys so long?" she asked. "Nate and Sophie's house is awesome! But they need better locks on the attic windows!"

"How – "Sophie started to ask. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Let's get inside and get warm again." She rubbed her hands together to warm them up and then reinserted them in her pockets. Gloves would have been a good idea, and that tea she had been making sounded even better than it had fifteen minutes ago.


	6. Chapter 6

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

Parker didn't so much as pause to unpack before insisting Nate take her to find the perfect Christmas tree. Sophie thought about going, but decided that inside a warm house was a far better way to spend a cold December afternoon. Eliot had retreated to the downstairs guestroom to do ... something ... but Hardison had settled at the breakfast bar in the kitchen with his laptop and was apparently updating and upgrading everything from their security system to their satellite tv package. Sophie didn't object: Nate would eventually find his way back to any programs or channels he was using, and her own interaction with technology still didn't extend far beyond the basic uses of a cell phone and the making of microwave popcorn. She got a bottle of the orange soda she and Nate had stocked up on in anticipation of this week, and took it and her tea over to join him. Hardison had always seemed more comfortable talking while doing something else, so this gave her a good opportunity to live a little piece of her old life vicariously through him. As much as she enjoyed her new life as a theatre director and wife of Nathan Ford, founder of a citizen watchdog organisation through which he had found new and creative ways to harass corrupt leaders in the public and private sectors, a large part of her missed the thrill of skating past the edge of the law without a backward glance. She had started wondering recently if Eliot was right about her not being the one best suited for ordinary life...

Hardison was more than happy to share stories. With hardly any prompting, he told her about their most recent job, then segued into other recent daring heists and hair-raising escapes – somewhat exaggerated if Sophie remained any judge of body language. She smiled when he told her about Parker and the coffee commercial finally winning their weeks' long campaign to convince Eliot to spend Christmas with Nate and Sophie – and used it as an opening to prod a little around the ways in which they had adapted and rebalanced the team to accommodate the exodus of their mastermind and grifter. From what Hardison described, Sophie owed Nate a bottle of scotch from the bet they had on. They had fallen into much the pattern he had predicted: Hardison identified the clients and targets. Parker figured out where pressure needed to be applied to right the wrong that had been done, and Eliot played whatever roles he needed to but always made sure they went home safe. On the other hand, Nate owed her some very good wine: after two particularly narrow escapes, the three had come to a mutual agreement that, on matters of safety, Eliot had unquestioned veto power during a job. As Parker was telling Nate in a parking lot filled with Christmas trees, "He says it's our job to get in, and his to get us out."

For Hardison, things were going least smoothly where the Brewpub was concerned. The restaurant was becoming the victim of its own success, and Hardison wanted to expand, opening franchises in other parts of Portland and possibly in Seattle. Eliot, however, remained convinced that the secret of their success lay in the hands-on management they were able to give the Brewpub and that franchising would start a downward slide through the realm of Applebee's and straight into the soulless pit of McDonald's and Subway. Sophie made sympathetic noises, but suspected that Hardison was only pushing the franchising option to annoy Eliot, and that no-one would be more surprised – and disappointed – should Eliot ever agree.

The short winter afternoon faded into dark before Nate and Parker returned with the tree. As the light faded, Sophie turned on lamps and drew curtains partway across the windows to keep the warmth in, then dragged Hardison away from his computer long enough to help her clear a space for the Christmas tree in the living room. When Eliot emerged a little while later, it was to a cosy picture of Sophie curled up next to the fire with a book, while Hardison divided his attention between the scifi movie he had playing on the television and the gadget he was tinkering with.

Eliot poked around the kitchen, curious to see what kind of equipment Nate and Sophie had chosen, given that he had never seen either of them cook. It was decently outfitted – if a trifle underused looking. And there was a fairly good selection of both fresh produce and dry groceries in the refrigerator and pantry. Eliot catalogued the supplies reflexively.

"Did Nate say when he and Parker would be back?" he called out to Sophie. "Should I start something for dinner?"

"He called a little while ago to say they were headed back but had hit the commuter traffic. And he's picking up Thai food on the way," she told him.

"Oh."

Sophie listened as a kitchen cabinet was quietly closed, and Eliot's footsteps brought him to lean in the archway .

"Don't worry," she smiled up at him. "I have big plans for putting your culinary skills to the test with Christmas dinner."

He returned her smile, but didn't come further into the room to join them. He scowled briefly at Hardison's choice of movies as something tentacled exploded on-screen. His gaze shifted to the fireplace and sharpened with purpose.

"You got any logs out back that need splitting?" he asked. "I could –"

"Eliot," Sophie interrupted him, snapping her book closed, "you cannot possibly be that bored already."

"Not bored," he protested. "Just...restless. Too many hours in the car."

"Well, come up with a better activity than chopping firewood in the dark," Sophie told him.

Eliot grunted. He hadn't really thought about how he would fill in the time here when he agreed to come. He had explored the downstairs portion of the house earlier, examining the entry/exit points and concluding that Nate and Sophie had put a decent amount of thought into what constituted adequate security. He hadn't ventured upstairs, though. Even if the guestroom Parker and Hardison were sharing was up there, the upper storey of a house was private and a well-mannered guest wouldn't go poking around it uninvited. Still, Parker had mentioned the poor quality of the locks on the attic windows...He looked consideringly from the stairs to Sophie.

"Go ahead," she signed resignedly, reopening her book."You and Parker: is there anything you two can just look at or appreciate without drawing up plans to break into or defend it?"

The question was obviously rhetorical, so Eliot didn't attempt an answer.

He wasn't upstairs long. Parker had no doubt taken the time to crack both the obvious wall safe in the master bedroom and the better hidden one in the floor of the linen closet, pausing to stick her nose into the nooks and crannies in between, but Eliot was only checking the windows. She was right about the attic windows, and he found a bathroom window big enough for a person to fit through that could be forced out of its frame with little trouble. He checked his watch. It was probably too late to find an open hardware store in this neighbourhood, but he at least had a start of a to-do list for the next day. He went back downstairs and browsed Nate's book collection in the hope of finding something that piqued his interest. Nothing caught his eye, so he eventually grabbed a book at random and went back to join Sophie and Hardison in the living room. He still couldn't settle, however, and he was making Sophie and Hardison jumpy by constantly getting up to do nothing more than prowl around the room or peer out a window. The third time he got up Hardison demanded that he at least do something useful with his excess energy and make popcorn. Eliot grumbled about lazy hackers, but was restless enough to appreciate even such a short-term goal. By the fifth time, Eliot was annoying even himself.

"I'm going for a walk," he announced, and went to get his coat and gloves and hat.

"It's like twenty degrees out there!" Hardison exclaimed in disbelief. "And snowing!"

"So?" Eliot asked, pulling on his hat.

"So you're crazy," Hardison expanded.

Eliot just shook his head. Some things – mostly fresh air and exercise-related things, along with whether gummy frogs and orange soda constituted food – he and Hardison were just never going to see eye to eye on.

"There's a park a couple of blocks east from here," Sophie told him, following him to the kitchen door. "But don't be too long – the others should be back with dinner soon."

"Don't wait for me if they get back first," he said.

He let himself out.

"So, Eliot's really gotten the whole 'put your feet up and relax' thing down since you left," Hardison said wryly as Sophie came back into the living room.

She laughed, but then frowned.

"It's not just me, though, is it?" she asked. "I mean, he never used to get this restless this fast, did he?"

Hardison shrugged.

"Depends," he said. "Sometimes, when we were out of town on a job and there was nothing much for him to do but sit on his hands and wait unless the whole thing went to hell in a handbasket, he'd get like this pretty darn fast. But, yeah, these days, the only time he stays still is when he's meditating or has a job to do. Otherwise he's off finding one - fixing something in the restaurant, or planting a damn vegetable garden, or checking the security on our offices or houses, or practising some new fighting technique..." Hardison trailed off, somewhere between awed and amused by Eliot as usual. "He makes Batman look lazy and boring."

"You watch" he continued after a moment. "How much do you want to bet that by the time everyone wakes up tomorrow, he'll have chopped whatever firewood you have out there, been to the hardware store, replaced the locks on your attic windows, and cooked the damn breakfast?"

Sophie shook her head.

"So what do you think changed?" she asked.

Hardison shrugged again.

"Nothing really changed," he said. "It's just that Eliot's being...more 'Eliot', I guess...I mean, how we work changed some with switching from five people to three, and Eliot's been taking fewer side jobs. I guess we're just getting a more concentrated version."

"Mmm," Sophie wasn't sure she agreed. Hardison might be right, but swirling through her head was her conversation with Eliot in a Nebraskan gym, when he'd tried to explain to her that throwing a fight – even genuinely losing a fight – wasn't going to rock the foundations of his world, because it was control over what was inside him that mattered. The calm she had felt in him them, tangible even through the layers of anger at the way their mark was exploiting him – them – as well as their clients, seemed missing tonight. If the control that he had fought for and so obviously prized was slipping, she did not want to contemplate the dark places that could take him. But if, rather than losing it, he was using it to cut something else from his life – or himself – she wasn't sure she had the right or the courage to interfere.

Sophie's maudlin turn of thoughts was thankfully halted by the sound of a car pulling up outside, followed almost immediately by Parker's woolly-hatted head poking through the door to announce that they had got an enormous tree and demand help unloading it and getting it inside.

Hardison reluctantly stood and went to don several extra layers of clothing in preparation for venturing out into the cold. Sophie put on a coat and gloves – too many tree carriers was surely as disastrous as too many cooks, so she only planned on being outside long enough to collect the take out containers from the car.

"Where's Eliot?" Parker asked as Hardison joined her and Nate in their efforts to untie the tree from the car roof and haul it inside.

"He went for a walk," Hardison told her, the unspoken _idiot_ suffusing his tone.

"Oh," Parker said, like that was a perfectly normal thing to do when it was ten degrees below freezing. "Where?"

"Sophie suggested a park that's a couple of blocks away," Hardison told her. Not that that meant Eliot had actually gone to the park, of course. "I think I've just about got this rope." With fingers made clumsy by two pairs of gloves, he had bypassed untying the knots in favour of sawing through the rope with his pocketknife.

"You have a park?" Parker turned to Nate.

"Tomorrow, Parker," he told her. "Let's just get this gigantic tree inside for now."

Getting it off the car roof ultimately proved easy. Hardison tugged the last rope free from the cargo rails on top of the SUV without realising it was still wrapped around the tree truck and found himself very suddenly in the snow underneath a large fir tree.

"Maybe we should call Eliot," he spluttered through the branches.

"For one little tree?" Parker scoffed. "Call him for dinner, but we can manage the tree."

"'Little!' Says the person not buried under it," Hardison complained.

Nate looked toward the house where Sophie was laughing at them from the window, the phone pressed to her ear suggesting that Eliot was already fully apprised of the situation. He bent down and lifted the lighter end of the tree enough for Hardison to slide out fairly easily. The tree wasn't actually very heavy, but it was an awkward size and shape, particularly for moving through doorways, and all three of them were flushed and slightly scratched – and the tree somewhat battered - by the time the it was in the living room and secured in its stand.

Parker wanted to decorate it immediately, but Sophie vetoed that idea.

"Dinner first," she said, and any thought of argument evaporated with the delicious smells wafting out as she opened the various containers.

"Eliot on his way?" Nate asked Sophie as they pulled plates and serving spoons out of cabinets and drawers.

She nodded.

"He said he was close. He should be back in a few minutes."

Hardison pulled out his phone and called up the GPS tracking app.

"This says he's right outside," Hardison said.

Nate looked over his shoulder at the screen, then left the kitchen to open the front door. Sure enough, Eliot was sitting on the front steps.

"Eliot?" Nate asked. "What are out doing out here?"

"Falling."

It was growled under his breath, and Nate was pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear. He sat beside the younger man. He hadn't turned the porch light on when he came out but there enough light coming through the house windows to see that Eliot's eyes were clenched tightly shut and his fingers had a death grip on the step he was sitting on.

"Vertigo?" Nate asked.

Eliot nodded, then instantly regretted it. He lurched and swore as he lost his grip with one hand. Nate caught him with a hand against his shoulder. The contact let him feel the shivers running lightly through the other man's body, and he wondered exactly how long Eliot had been sitting out there.

"How about we go inside?" Nate suggested.

"Can't," Eliot told him.

"Why not?"

"Standing up wasn't working out so well."

Nate squeezed the shoulder he was holding.

"I'll help, okay?" he told Eliot.

Nate stood up, moving in front of Eliot but leaving his hand where it was. Even so, the movement seemed to disrupt whatever tenuous balance Eliot had established and his hand shot up to grip Nate's arm, holding it in place.

"Okay," Nate reassured him, waiting until the fingers wrapped around his arm relaxed from clutching to holding. "There's a railing just a couple of inches from your right hand, can you grab that?"

Eliot got it on the second try and slid his hand up the vertical bar to find the top rail. Nate grabbed the rail with his own left hand, ready to steady them both against Eliot's weight. He slid his right hand down from Eliot's shoulder to get a good grip on his bicep.

"Ready?" Nate asked.

"Yeah," Eliot said.

"On three."

Nate counted it off and braced himself as a ballast as Eliot pushed to his feet. He stepped in closer, trying to give Eliot the sense of a solid body in front of him instead of the open drop of the stairs.

"You going to be sick?" he asked, seeing Eliot's adam's apple bob rapidly as he swallowed against the nausea.

"Maybe," Eliot admitted.

"Okay," Nate said matter-of-factly. "Warn me if you can – but I've washed off worse if you can't."

Eliot tried to respond – opened his mouth and his eyes to try to say 'thank you' or _something_, but had to close them again, swallowing quickly, and he settled for squeezing Nate's arm.

"Tell me when you're ready to move," Nate continued.

It took another minute, but eventually Eliot took a deeper breath in and let it out on a slow exhale.

"Ready," he said.

"Keep your eyes closed if that helps," Nate told him, then talked him slowly through the process of releasing Nate's arm to grab the railing with both hands, then turning and taking the final step up onto the porch. As Eliot moved, Nate spotted the other three hovering in the front hallway. He jerked his head, indicating they should go back to the kitchen. Eliot might suspect he had an audience, but it would be easier to pretend he didn't if he didn't actually trip over them on the way inside.

Progress was faster once they were on the flat surface, but the pasty green shade of Eliot's face that the hall light revealed had Nate directing their steps towards the closer living room couch rather than his original target of the bedroom.

Eliot tried to stop and remove his boots, muttering something about mud. Nate kept him moving.

"I would rather mop up some mud than try to pick you up off the floor," he explained.

They made it to the couch in one piece, and Parker appeared as soon as Nate had Eliot sitting, divesting him of his hat, coat, and boots before he could formulate a protest.

"I've got it, Sparky," she said, nudging him over until he was lying down, and then disappearing as suddenly as she had appeared.

The relief at finding himself horizontal was written clearly across Eliot's face. His eyes relaxed and, after a moment, blinked open.

"You need anything?" Nate asked.

"No. Thanks, Nate," Eliot said.

"How about food?"  
Eliot considered it.

"Maybe...not yet," he said eventually.

"Does the smell of it make you sick?"

Eliot inhaled. The aromas from the kitchen actually smelled pretty good.

"Nope."

"In that case," Nate smiled, "You're getting company. Guys, bring dinner in here," he called towards the kitchen.

"Nate," Eliot stopped him. Nate expected a protest; Eliot generally preferred to lick his wounds in private. But right now, everyone else would worry and ultimately fuss less if Eliot was right there in front of them than, so he wasn't getting any choice in the matter. As it turned out, though, what Eliot had to say wasn't anything about the dinner arrangements – he had just figured out what the _something_ he had wanted to say outside was.

"You're going to be a really great dad. Again."

Nate froze. Eliot had timed it perfectly. The words were barely out of his mouth when Parker and Hardison arrived, spilling take-out containers, orange soda, plates, chopsticks and silverware onto the coffee table, with Sophie right behind them laden with napkins and juice and ginger ale.

"We ran out of hands for the glasses," Parker said, giving Nate an excuse to escape to the relative privacy of the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 7

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Here is a bonus chapter for today. Someone left me a "guest review" and since I can't figure out how to reply to that directly to say "thank you", I figured the best solution was to post a new chapter :D. So... "Dear Guest Reviewer, Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far and I hope you like this chapter too (for which all readers can thank you for the early posting!). Sincerely, RD...PS. The note is only formal because everyone is reading it. Normally it would just read 'Thank you!' (okay, and it would probably include a smiley face)"  
_

Dinner turned into a protracted affair. Since it and the tree were now in the same room, Parker didn't see any reason why eating dinner and decorating the tree had to be done sequentially, and she was soon happily digging through the box of "decorations" she had shipped to Sophie as soon as the Christmas invitation was issued, snatching bites of pad thai in between discoveries. Sophie was trying on the "decorations" that particularly caught her fancy in between bites of her own meal, and passing comments to Hardison and Nate about the episode of Dr. Who they had convinced Hardison to put on the tv instead of the zombie classic he initially proposed. Hardison was splitting his attention between food, television, and constructing a security system for the world's most expensively decorated Christmas tree – involving, so far as Nate could tell, motion and weight sensors and some of the worst Christmas music ever written or performed. Eliot had been commandeered by Parker – since, as she explained, he wasn't eating or watching tv and could do this lying down with his eyes closed and probably both hands tied behind his back – to untangle the enormous ball of Christmas lights she produced from her decoration box. Nate might have objected, but Eliot looked more relaxed with something to do with hands. He had to wonder, though, how Parker, who kept all her ropes and gear in immaculate condition, could have stored the lights in a manner resulting in such an impressive tangle. Eliot seemed to be wondering something similar, if the expression on his face as he rotated the lights to look into the mess from different angles was anything to go by.

"Parker," Eliot asked, suspiciously, "did you tie the lights into knots?"

Parker swallowed another mouthful of pad thai and nodded.

"How else would it be a challenge?" she asked.

A growl rolled out from the back of Eliot's throat. He tossed the ball of lights back to Parker.

"Plug them in and make sure they at least work before any of us waste hours untying all those knots," he told her.

Parker was affronted.

"Of course they work," she said, tossing it back. "They're brand new."

Eliot caught the lights, but stared at Parker in disbelief.

"You tangled up brand new lights like this, just to make me untangle them?" Even after six years he was still surprised by the strange places Parker's particular brand of crazy could go. "Something wrong with you," he muttered under his breath.

Eliot has been saying that for so many years – and been ignored by Parker for so many years – that when, instead of just shrugging it off, Parker dropped her gaze and muttered in her own turn, "At least it's the right kind of wrong," everyone froze, gazes flickering around the room to see if anyone knew what she meant.

Eliot seemed to find some meaning in it, to judge by the sudden tightening of his jaw. But when Parker looked back up and directly at him, he just lobbed the ball of lights to her one more time.

"Always the right kind," he told her. "Now pull an end out of that mess you constructed to start me off."

Parker accepted the peace offering, and the contented flow to the evening streamed back in as her nimble fingers extracted the plug end of a string of lights from the middle of the tangle and passed it back to Eliot. But Nate and Sophie each made a mental note of the exchange, wondering where it fit into the picture they were painting of the three-man Leverage International operation.

Half an hour later Eliot presented Parker with three neatly coiled strings of lights.

"How many knots?" she asked.

"Twenty-three, but you had two repeats," he replied automatically.

Parker nodded.

"You said we should practise knots," she explained.

Eliot frowned, sifting through his memory for a conversation about knots.

"That was a month ago," he exclaimed when he found one.

"That's when I tied them," Parker agreed. "The Christmas lights made it more fun!"

Eliot bit back the comment that rose to his tongue – he had dug himself out of the sinkhole his last rendition of 'something wrong with you' had opened easily enough, but he wasn't going to chance his luck.

It was late by the time the tree was decked out in its bejewelled glory to Parker's satisfaction. On her third yawn, Sophie announced that she was going to bed and would see them all in the morning. Nate and Eliot rose with her, moving to clear the remnants of dinner. Nate kept an eye on Eliot as they worked, but the man seemed steady on his feet as he bent to gather the take-out containers and then carried them to the kitchen. Eliot certainly would not welcome any unnecessary fuss, so once the dishes were done, he too said goodnight and followed Sophie upstairs.

Eliot relaxed a little in the absence of Nate's scrutiny. He knew Nate was just concerned about a repeat of the earlier incident, but, even so, the feeling of eyes following him was enough to raise the hairs all down his spine.

That just left Hardison and Parker in the living room. Hardison was apparently settled in for the duration, slouched in one of the armchairs with his laptop balanced against his knees. Parker was sitting on the floor, apparently mesmerised by the shimmering tree.

"You guys not ready for bed yet?" Eliot asked from the doorway leading through to the kitchen and dining room.

"Maybe in a little," Hardison said, looking up. "You?"

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Shower first, though." He pushed away from the doorway and headed for the downstairs guestroom.

"Hey, Eliot?" Hardison stopped him. "Leave the door open and inch or so, so we can hear you if you need anything, okay?"

Eliot frowned, opening his mouth to protest. Parker whipped her head around to scowl at him over her shoulder.

"Just to be safe," Hardison added, sounding like thought he had already lost the debate.

Eliot looked from him to Parker, thinking about the _right kind of wrong_, and the implication that maybe he wasn't that kind right now. He didn't know how he could fix that, but a full blown argument that he would probably lose over something as small as leaving the bathroom door open an inch, was almost definitely the wrong answer.

He sighed, but capitulated.

"Fine."

Only Hardison was still in the living room when Eliot came back out twenty minutes later, towelling his hair dry.

"Parker go to bed?" Eliot asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Hardison replied. "Why, you want her for something?"

"No," Eliot said. "I was just going to ask if she had her box of locks with her. Maybe borrow them for a couple of hours' practice."

"She's probably still awake," Hardison offered. "You want me to go up and ask her?"

Eliot shook his head.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said.

Hardison heard Eliot head towards the kitchen, followed by sounds of the kettle being filled and boiled for tea. He didn't hear Eliot's footsteps coming back – the other man was just suddenly at his shoulder, steaming mug in hand, and peering down at the security footage from the Brewpub that Hardison had up on his laptop screen.

"Everything okay back home?" Eliot asked.

Over the six years they had worked together, Hardison had become a lot better at controlling his startled flinch when Eliot or Parker pulled this move on him. He hardly ever spilled his orange soda across his keyboard anymore.

"Yep," he replied. "Looks like business is good."

Eliot grunted. He was more interested in warning signs that one of their past marks had tracked the Brewpub down as their base of operations than he was in sales volumes or profit margins. He left Hardison to it, picked up the book he hadn't really started reading earlier, and headed back to the guestroom.

"'Night," he said to Hardison as he left.

"G'night," Hardison responded, yawning a little. Maybe this wouldn't be one of those nights when he was still up playing World of Warcraft when Eliot re-emerged from the nap he like to call a night's sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

Sophie was woken early the next morning by a rhythmic chopping sound. Nate was woken by Sophie yanking the pillow from underneath his head to press it over her exposed ear. Once he was awake, though, the relentless cycle of _thud-crack_ was pervasive.

"What is that noise?" he asked, raising his head to peer blearily around the room.

"Probably Eliot chopping firewood," Sophie grumbled from between the pillows, remembering Hardison's prediction from the day before. "Make him stop, Nate," she pleaded. "It's too early for that sort of thing."

Nate groaned, head falling back against the bed. It was barely seven in the morning, the patch of sky visible through the windows just starting to get light. He tried to convince himself he could go back to sleep for an hour, but even if he could tune the axe strokes out to nothing but a background rhythm, he couldn't do the same with his wife.

"Na-ate," she whined, when there was no movement from the other side of the bed. And then her feet found his legs and she dug her toes into the flesh of his calves.

"Fine!"

Nate threw back the covers and got up, reaching for the bathrobe draped across the foot of the bed and sliding his feet into slippers. Yawning and rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he padded downstairs and out onto the back porch.

Eliot had evidently been at this for a while, which accounted for some of Sophie's annoyance. He had built up a good-sized stack of split logs and, despite the below freezing temperature, had discarded his jacket and flannel shirt, and his t-shirt was sticking to the light sheen of sweat covering his body.

Nate pulled his bathrobe closer around him against the cold.

"Eliot," he called out – not too loudly and trying to time it between swings of the axe. Startling a man wielding even the lightweight axe Nate kept for chopping firewood was never a good idea – and an even worse one when said man was Eliot Spencer.

He had to repeat himself a couple of times before Eliot turned to look, axe dropping to his side.

"Too early?" Eliot asked, taking in Nate's sleep-rumpled state.

"Little bit," Nate replied.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Eliot apologised.

"You didn't," Nate said, the corners of his mouth turning down a little in dark humour. "You woke Sophie."

Eliot sent him an apologetic grimace as he stooped to gather the last set of split logs scattered around him and stacked them neatly with the others. He steadied himself with a hand against the house for a moment, and Nate's gaze sharpened.

"How about you leave the playing with sharp implements to others until that vertigo clears up?" he suggested.

"I'm fine," Eliot said automatically, reaching for his flannel shirt and shrugging it back on.

Nate gave a lopsided smirk, but let it drop.

"Coffee?" he asked, stepping back towards the door.

"Yeah," Eliot grabbed his jacket and an armload of split logs to restock the basket in the living room, and followed Nate inside.

Nate made the good coffee – the one Sophie couldn't resist. He had left the bedroom door open so he knew the aroma would reach her, even if her head was still sandwiched between two pillows. If he was going to watch the sun rise, it was only fair that the woman responsible for him being awake to do so should join him, rather than staying snuggled up in their warm bed.

Sophie held out an impressive length of time. Nate was almost at the bottom of his second cup when she put in an appearance. She went straight for the coffee pot, ignoring Nate's "Good morning" until she had fixed her cup the way she liked it, and spent a moment savouring the aroma and the heavenly first sip. Only after that did she cross to where Nate leant against the counter for a good morning hug and kiss. She caught Eliot smirking at them over the rim of his coffee cup as she turned in Nate's arms, but she wiped that expression from his face in seconds by joining him at the breakfast bar, planting a kiss on his cheekbone – with a wink at Nate – before seating herself on the stool next to him and curling herself around the warmth of her coffee cup.

Eliot froze, then turned slowly to stare at her from underneath lowered eyebrows.

Sophie smiled sweetly.

"So, chopping wood at six o'clock in the morning?" she opened.

"Seven," Eliot protested.

"It was six when you started," Sophie countered

"Yeah," Eliot admitted reluctantly.

"We have got to find you some quieter hobbies," Sophie said emphatically – causing Nate to choke on his last mouthful of coffee.

"Like what?" Eliot seemed genuinely curious as to what she might suggest.

Sophie thought for a moment. She either needed an actual solution or a suggestion funny enough that they could laugh it off and move on without having the rest of the conversation about Eliot's sleeping habits.

"Macramé?" she deadpanned.

Eliot snorted.

"How about mime?" Nate asked, earning glares from the other two. "What? It's guaranteed to be quiet," he continued.

Sophie shook her head at him sadly and continued to talk to Eliot.

"In the meantime, you could make up for waking me up at this ungodly hour by making me breakfast," she suggested.

"I could," Eliot agreed. "What are you thinking?"

Sophie considered it. Morning sickness was taking the day off, and she apparently had a trained chef willing to indulge her culinary whims...this needed some serious thought.

"I'm not sure yet," Sophie told him. "Why don't you go and shower off that sweat you worked up playing lumberjack while I decide?"

Eliot tipped his head back to get the last few drops of coffee from his mug, then stood to carry it over to the sink.

"You might want to take into account what you have the ingredients for while you're thinking about it," he told Sophie. "Unless you're hiding a magic wand in one of those cabinets?"

"Go and shower," Sophie repeated. "I'll have my requests ready when you're done, and I expect top-of-the-line performance."

Eliot just rolled his eyes, and left her, Nate and the coffee pot to it.


	9. Chapter 9

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: More reviews I couldn't reply to mean another chapter! Many thanks to all those who have reviewed (both the "guests" and the ones I can reply to :)). For those people who have asked about just how much I plan on hurting Eliot for the "hurt/comfort" designation on this story: well, I won't say this chapter answers your questions, but I am pretty sure the next one does! (I know that's vague - but I don't want to either spoil the plot or leave people feeling like they are hanging indefinitely!)_

The rest of the morning passed quietly enough. Eliot took Parker to the hardware store to find better locks for Nate and Sophie's attic windows; they then joined Sophie in her quest for the final ingredients for Christmas dinner. The menu wasn't quite the elaborate feast Sophie had originally planned: Eliot had made her cut the list in half on the grounds that five people could not eat that much food. He had also added one or two things that certain team members refused to contemplate the holidays without. Just the thought of a Thanksgiving or Christmas without green bean casserole was enough to start Hardison hyperventilating. The first time Eliot had cooked a Thanksgiving dinner for the team he had refused to make the dish on the grounds that any recipe in which all the ingredients were measured in "cans" barely constituted food and certainly wasn't going to share table space with the organic, free-range turkey that he had rubbed, and stuffed, and basted to perfection. He had instead devised a green bean dish along the lines of what green bean casserole would be if made from fresh ingredients, but Hardison insisted it tasted wrong and Eliot had almost lost his kitchen to Hardison's attempt to demonstrate a "proper", Nana-style green bean casserole. They had since reached a compromise whereby Eliot made the damn casserole each year and Hardison stayed out of his kitchen and made no attempt to get Eliot to eat the dish.

Taking one more look at Sophie's revised list as they wound up the shopping trip, Eliot added apple pie _a la mode_ to the menu ... he was not entirely sure about the flaming plum pudding with brandy sauce Sophie had planned for dessert, and he really wasn't sure it was a good idea to introduce Parker to the idea of setting food on fire before eating. He sent Parker off for apples and Sophie for cream and butter while he went in search of vanilla beans. He could feel the vertigo settling back in as he headed for the spice aisle, and added a mental note to the pattern he was starting to identify. It seemed that he could count on a few hours of being active and upright before needing to spend some time in a horizontal position to let everything re-settle. But this time, instead of the Earth doing the tilt-a-whirl impression around him that he could mostly compensate for – so long as he didn't count the previous nights' little episode on Nate and Sophie's front steps, anyway – he seemed to be the one rotating, an infinitely more disorienting sensation. Sophie found him rooted to the spot in front of the spice rack, wild-eyed and clinging to the shopping cart as people craned around him in search of cinnamon and nutmeg and other last minute, forgotten flavourings.

"Time to go home, I think," was all Sophie said.

"No, wait," Eliot told her. "We need vanilla. The pods not the essence."

Sophie huffed a frustrated sigh that had Eliot thinking of volcanoes working up to an eruption. Nonetheless, she stepped away for a moment then, coming back, held a packet of vanilla pods in front of his eyes before adding it to the cart.

"Vanilla," she said. "Let's go."

She took hold of his arm, and Eliot felt himself steady. It only lasted a moment, though. With barely a pause, he felt himself start to rotate in the opposite direction, spinning faster and faster until the store aisle was little more than a blur in his peripheral vision. Last night he had at least been in a place he had already checked out and classified as mostly safe, and it had just been the team there, and he had known roughly where everyone was and what to expect, so when Nate had offered his arm as an anchor and his voice as a guide, Eliot had been able to substitute trust for the piece of control he had lost hold of and let Nate take over. Now, though, he was alone with a pregnant Sophie in a crowded and unfamiliar place, with Parker somewhere else and out of contact with Nate and Hardison. No matter how much he trusted Sophie herself, he had to claw his way back to some semblance of functional. And because he had to, he did. There was nothing he could do about the spinning, but he could stay upright and he could listen for the sounds of people moving around him, and, trusting Sophie to steer the cart away from collisions with other shoppers, he could put one foot in front of the other to get them out of here and back to familiar ground.

"I got the apples."

Parker's announcement was almost Eliot's undoing. Between the shock of her sudden appearance and the relief at having her back in range, it was largely the painful tightening of Sophie's grip on his arm in response that kept him from a sudden and painfully close introduction to the floor.

"Thank you, Parker," Sophie said from his left.

"What's wrong with Eliot?" Parker demanded. Eliot had long given up hoping Parker would ever learn tact or discretion, but he was still annoyed that she would so publicly call attention to the difficulties he was having, and that she would ask Sophie instead of talking to him directly.

"I'm right here, Parker," he growled. "And it's just the stupid vertigo."

"Eliot, why don't you and Parker head out to the car while I pay for all this food?" Sophie suggested.

"No," Eliot said shortly. "We should stay together."

"Eliot," Sophie tried to reason with him, "you're ob–"

"I said no," Eliot cut her off. "End of discussion."

Sophie felt her temper flare and she took a deep breath in preparation for the tirade she was about to let loose on Eliot for his rank stupidity, when she caught Parker's eye.

Parker didn't look happy about it either, but she shook her head at Sophie before starting a careful scan of their surroundings to see if she could spot what had Eliot on high alert.

"When it's about safety," Parker explained, "Eliot's decision goes. We can argue about it later, but only when we're somewhere safe."

It obviously wasn't a rule Parker liked but she had, for whatever reason, decided it was one she would live and work under. Sophie thought she saw part of that reason in the way a little of the tension faded from Eliot's face and shoulders at Parker's acknowledgement that this was his call.

_Well_. Sophie knew a brick wall when she ran into one.

"Okay," she said. And if Eliot ended up on the floor, there was probably a bag boy or a store manager around somewhere dying to show off his strength to one of the sales assistants and would therefore be willing to pick Eliot back up.

The drive home was made in silence. Sophie was still seething, Parker had retreated into herself and was pointedly ignoring the outside world, and Eliot was pretending to sleep, half ashamed at his minor freak out in the grocery store when he wasn't sure he could identify and respond to any threats that may arise, half still worried about missing something. It was just grocery shopping, for crying out loud. What had he expected to happen? An attack by a crazed horde of rabid bananas? A cool whip avalanche? But on the other hand, it was Sophie and Parker. And while their trouble magnets might not be as big as the one Nate seemed to carry around, combine them with the possibility that someone from his past or Leverage International's present was keeping an eye out, and those rabid bananas started looking like a walk in the park.

Sophie pulled into the garage next to the empty space where Nate's car generally lived. Apparently his "quick trip" to the electronics store with Hardison to look into updating some of their electronic equipment was taking longer than anticipated. She intercepted Eliot as he opened the rear passenger door. Parker showed no sign of moving yet from the front seat.

"Go and lie down," Sophie told him.

"I'll help you unload the groceries first," he replied.

"No," she stood between him and the trunk of the car, and, while he could move her bodily out of the way, Sophie didn't think he would lay a hand on her. "Parker and I will get them. Your bed or the couch, Eliot. Those are your only choices here."

He scowled at her.

"Don't try to order me around, Sophie," Eliot said, his soft tone more menacing than any growling threat she had heard him produce. A shiver ran down Sophie's spine at the sound of it, but she stood her ground.

"My house," she countered, "my rules. Don't push me either, Eliot."

She couldn't tell from the expressions chasing each other across his face if the words had served as a reminder of the good manners his mother insisted he exercise as a guest in someone else's home, or of shouted exchanges between a boy testing the boundaries of approaching manhood and the man who raised him. Either way, he bit back whatever further protests or threats had risen to his lips, gave her a curt nod, and crossed to the door leading into the house. Sophie watched him go, the rigid set to his shoulders making her wonder if she would find him following instructions, or packing his bag in preparation for the one effective countermove to her 'my house, my rules' argument: leaving. He really was an infuriatingly stubborn man.

But right now, Sophie had a carful of groceries to deal with. She rapped on Parker's window twice without getting any response before simply opening the car door.

"Parker, could you help me unload the shopping, please?" Sophie asked.

Parker turned her head to look at Sophie and seemed about to say something. After a moment, though, she simply nodded, released the catch for her seatbelt and followed Sophie to the rear of the car.

Parker helped carry the bags through to the kitchen, then boosted herself up to sit cross-legged on the counter, watching wordlessly as Sophie put the groceries away. The weight of her gaze was both familiar and unsettling to Sophie; she was no longer accustomed to performing mundane tasks under Parker's scrutiny but she remembered how, especially during the team's early years together, Parker would often become riveted by the very normality of such routines.

The last bag was almost empty before Parker spoke.

"I told Nate that he needs to fix Eliot while we're here," she blurted out.

Sophie paused in unpacking the last of the vegetables, then took a breath, finished and turned to face Parker.

"Fix him how, Parker?" she asked.

Parker shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I thought Nate would be able to figure something out."

Sophie counted to five in her head, reminding herself how literally Parker tended to take things.

"I meant, what makes you think he needs fixing?" she asked.

Parker shrugged again.

"It's little things," she said, frowning as she tried to find a pattern between them. "Like, he hardly ever cooks anymore, and he doesn't tease Hardison like he used to, and his house doesn't have...well, stuff, like yours does, and..."

Parker trailed off, eyebrows knitting together as she frowned even harder.

"It's like he's turning into how I was before we started being a team – just backwards," she said hesitantly.

Once she said it, Parker could feel the shape of all the little things she had been seeing fall into place – but apparently it wasn't so clear to Sophie.

"Like you were in what way?" she asked.

Parker tried to think of a way to explain.

"Well, you know how before we starting working together, all I knew about was being a thief?" Parker asked.

Sophie nodded, and Parker continued.

"I mean, I was really good at being a thief, but I wasn't really interested in anything except how to be even better at it...in fact, I never even thought there was anything else in the world for me. But then I met you guys and you taught me about people, and movies, and artwork, and food, and stuff, and it was like I was living in a whole different world."

Sophie felt her eyes fill and lump rise in the throat. That was what she had always hoped and believed the team had given Parker, but hearing the younger woman acknowledge it was a victory in itself. Parker, however, was oblivious, continuing on the train of thought she was developing.

"But all that stuff is what Eliot's taking out of his life – like, if it's not something for a job or to make sure no-one's coming after us, it doesn't have a place in his life. And I don't understand," Parker continued, "because putting those things into my life seemed like a good thing, and Eliot won't tell me why he's cutting them out, so I don't know whether I should be doing the same."

_Promise me you'll keep them safe,_ Sophie felt her words to Eliot the night she and Nate resigned from the team echoing through her. It wasn't a conversation she liked to dwell on because, when she stopped to think about it, she couldn't explain why she had asked for that promise. It wasn't like he hadn't already been keeping all of them safe for years, and she had no reason to think he would withdraw any of that protection when she and Nate left. So why had she asked? And had asking added an unreasonable weight to the responsibility he already carried in that regard?

For now, though, Sophie pushed these questions aside. She would worry about them later – after she made sure sure Parker didn't try to follow him down whatever road he was walking these days. She crossed the kitchen to stand directly in front of Parker, eyes drilling into hers.

"Parker, I don't have many answers for you on this, but the one thing I am certain about is that there is no reason for you to start cutting things – or people – you have come to love out of your life. Okay?"

Parker thought about it, but didn't look convinced.

"But sometimes," she started, "sometimes Eliot and I have to do things the rest of you can't do...or won't do, because it feels wrong even though it's really the only reasonable thing to do. What if this is one of those things and you just don't know it needs to be done?"

Sophie didn't have a ready answer for that question. She had never thought much about the more distasteful tasks Parker and Eliot had taken on during jobs – although now that she was thinking about it, their roles in the team's success seemed obvious. It also explained some of the glances she had intercepted between them during jobs – generally before they both took off to deal with whatever crisis had erupted.

"Parker," Sophie asked slowly, hoping she was heading in the right direction with this, "when there've been things like that in the past, has Eliot told you they needed to be done?"

Parker gave her a disbelieving look.

"Mostly we just know," she said.

Sophie swallowed – had she really been that oblivious in the four years they had worked together?

"But if there were something needing to be done and only one of you had realised it, you would tell the other, wouldn't you?" she pressed.

"I guess, Parker said.

"And Eliot hasn't said anything about you needing to do anything this time?"

"No," Parker conceded. "Even when I asked him directly."

"Then there's your answer," Sophie told her, giving Parker's knee a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah," Parker still sounded doubtful. "But you and Nate will try to fix him? I want the old Eliot back."

"We'll talk to him," Sophie told her.

"Or maybe Nate could hypnotise him?" Parker brightened at the thought. "You know, take him back in time inside his own head like Nate did to Hardison when he needed to play the violin, so that he goes back to being the way he's supposed to be?"

Sophie couldn't quite repress the laugh that bubbled up at that idea.

"I don't think it works quite like that, Parker," she said.

"We probably shouldn't tell Eliot about Nate hypnotising him, though," Parker continued, as if she hadn't heard. "If he got as mad about it as Hardison did, he would probably punch Nate in the face!"


	10. Chapter 10

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers. _

_Some more Sophie-and-Eliot-friendship stuff for y'all. I admit that I am inordinately proud of this little "bedroom scene"! I think this chapter answers the various questions about what is/isn't wrong with Eliot. Also, RoddieSeiko: this should address any lingering concerns you may have about Eliot developing feeling for Sophie. And drjones: re shoes dropping? yes, cowboy boots plummeting earthwards at various points in this fic...but they make a more satisfying thud when preceded by the requisite emotional suspense!_

With the groceries put away, Parker's anxiety apparently sufficiently relieved by her plan to have Nate hypnotise Eliot, and Nate and Hardison not yet back from their electronics shopping trip, Sophie had run out of excuses for delaying her conversation with Eliot.

She nibbled a couple of gingersnaps while she thought about what she wanted to say. Once they were gone, she made her way through the living room to knock on his bedroom door.

"Eliot?" she called quietly. "May I come in?"

"It's your house," came the pointed reply.

Sophie rolled her eyes. Apparently the time taken for her conversation with Parker had not been enough for him to cool off. She opened the door anyway and stepped inside. Eliot was sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped so tightly the knuckles were white. His head had been bowed over his hands, but he lifted it as Sophie entered, pinning her with eyes in which anger still burnt fiercely.

"I was afraid I was going to find you packing up to leave," Sophie told him.

"Thought about it," Eliot told her, tilting his chin to indicate the bag standing at the end of the bed. "But I had reasons for coming, and walking out mad ain't gonna help any of 'em much."

As always when he was angry, his accent thickened and his speech slipped further into the vernacular. Sophie hid her smile; she wondered sometimes if he did it deliberately to convey the full extent of his anger, or if that's just what the version of him that never left Oklahoma would have sounded like. She sat next to him on the bed.

"I'm glad you're staying," she told him.

He shot a sideways glance at her.

"Don't mean I ain't mad at you."

Sophie sighed.

"I know," she said. "And I didn't mean to treat you like a child. I was just concerned."

He looked at her, but didn't say anything.

Sophie waited, then realised his look was as expectant as it was angry. She wasn't sure what he was waiting for: she had already offered her apology – no, her explanation.

_I'm not apologising!_ she had half-shouted in frustration all those years before, when the team first tried to reunite to take down Ian Blackpoole the second time.

_Maybe that's the problem!_ he had thrown back at her.

"I'm sorry," she said now – and once again witnessed how fast an apology could defuse Eliot's anger. It faded from his eyes, leaving him looking tired and resigned.

"I can take care of myself, Sophie. I wish you would remember that."

"I know you can," she told him. "But that doesn't stop me, or any of the others, from wanting to help when we can."

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "But most of the time, it's better if you don't...I have to know that I can manage by myself. If I start relying on other people, it's eventually going to put me and everyone I'm protecting at risk."

"You let Nate help last night," Sophie pointed out.

"Yes," Eliot conceded, "because we were here, and it was just the team around, and the probability of any kind of threat was low. Today we were in a crowded place I don't know well, we were split up, and I didn't know what to expect."

"Okay," Sophie could see the logic in that. "So if context is important, what about once we got home today? Why fight doing the sensible thing and heading straight inside to where you could lie down?"

Eliot gave her a tight smile.

"Would you accept that I'm a stubborn s.o.b. and was pissed off that the vertigo was still messing with me, and that you were treating me like a cranky seven-year-old? Because that's about the length and breadth of it."

"Stubborn and cranky? I think I can just about believe that," Sophie told him with a smile that dissolved into a yawn.

"You should get some rest," Eliot told her. "I hear growing babies is tiring work."

Sophie snorted.

"Yes, because the fact someone woke me up at six o'clock this morning couldn't possibly have anything to do with my being sleepy now."

She yawned again. It looked like the rest of this conversation might have to wait until after she had taken a nap. Fortunately, there was a bed handy. She slipped off her shoes and scooted back until her head was up on the pillows.

Sophie felt the bed rebound as Eliot stood.

"I'll just – " he started, looking a little awkward.

"Stay?" Sophie asked. "I want to talk to you."

Reluctantly, Eliot sat back down on the end of the bed, but Sophie patted the mattress beside her.

"I said 'talk', Eliot, not 'shout across the room'," she told him. "Besides, you'll feel better if you lie down for a while."

"Sophie," he protested, " you and Nate are married."

"Yes," she agreed. "And you, I and Nate all know that that means nothing more than talking and sleeping is going to happen."

Eliot grunted, but did toe off his boots and lie back next to her. Just like the previous night, the switch from vertical to horizontal brought swift relief from the worst of the vertigo that Sophie traced in the release of tension from around his eyes and jaw.

"So," she said after a few moments, "I'm thinking we should push the big fancy Christmas dinner back a day or two; give you a little more time off your feet to recover."

Eliot frowned at her.

"We don't need to do that," he said. "I think I've figured out this thing's pattern now, so I can manage."

Sophie huffed in exasperation.

"I don't want you to 'manage', Eliot," she told him. "I want you to heal."

"I can do both," he shrugged.

"Yes, but you don't need to," Sophie reminded him.

"Whatever," he said, then realised he sounded like a sulky teenager. "Look," he continued. "It's your kitchen and your Christmas. Whichever day you want to do it is fine with me."

"Well then, as the proprietor of the kitchen, I think our chief chef should take the next two days to rest to be sure of producing a command performance."

Eliot smiled.

"Oh, I see," he said. "It's really the goose you're worried about."

"Of course," Sophie teased him sleepily. "You didn't think I was worried about you, did you? You're indestructible!"

The smile dropped from Eliot's face.

"Eliot?" Sophie asked, a cold pit of fear forming in her stomach at his reaction. She pushed herself up on one elbow to see more of his face. "What's wrong? Is there something you haven't told us? ... Are you ill?"

The look of genuine surprise he turned on her was more reassuring than any words.

"No," he said. "Why would you ask that?"

"You seemed to find my joke about you being indestructible distinctly unfunny," Sophie said.

"Oh."

There was a pause while he seemed to consider whether or not to elaborate.

"No," he said, at last. "I was just thinking about all the things I've walked away from in one piece when all logic and reason say I shouldn't have been able to. And about the things I've done that maybe wouldn't have happened if I'd been a bit less indestructible."

Sophie lay back down, not sure that what he was implying wasn't worse than the physical threat she had feared.

"You regret surviving?" she asked carefully.

"Some days," he admitted. "Most days until we started this gig...Now there's something to balance the other side of the ledger a little."

They lay in silence for awhile. Sophie snuck glances at Eliot, but never caught him looking her way. His face was so composed and his breathing so regular that she was almost convinced he was asleep.

"You've done good things, too," she said when she could trust her voice again. "You do good things."

"Sometimes," Eliot conceded. "But every day, my skills keep good people doing good things safe."

"And that's enough?" Sophie asked, echoing her question when he, Hardison and Parker had first arrived the day before.

He turned his face towards her, eyes locking onto hers.

"That's everything," he told her.


	11. Chapter 11

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Thank you all yet again for the lovely reviews! I used to think authors were exaggerating about how much they appreciated them - now I know they weren't! (and that I need to go back to all the stories I loved but didn't review...) Anyway, have some more fic. This is a short one...more of an interlude than anything, but I hope you like it!  
_

Sophie, of course, got her way, and the elaborate Christmas dinner was postponed. She was somewhat less successful in her attempts to get Eliot to rest, but at least the six o'clock in the morning log splitting didn't make a reappearance on anyone's schedule. Eliot's restlessness from the first day seemed to have died down, so while he could not have failed to notice that Nate and Sophie were steering him towards activities that kept him inside, still, and inactive, he didn't protest. Instead, he played the endless games of chess with Nate, and kept a book handy to keep himself occupied when Sophie decided to nap on top of him (the most effective way she had found of getting him to sit or lie down when she thought he was starting to look a little unsteady), and then went off to do his own thing once they were finished.

The third time Nate found Eliot working his way through Parker's lock collection – this time blindfolded and with Parker sitting cross-legged on the coffee table in front of him with a stopwatch in her hands – he asked what had prompted this sudden interest in lock-picking. Eliot had always favoured a more...direct...approach to getting to the other side of a locked door in the past.

"You and Sophie were our back-up lock-pickers," Eliot said, still probing at the mechanism of the lock he was holding. "Parker can't always be at all the locks."

"What about Hardison?" Nate asked. "Is he also signed up for Parker's advanced course in thief skills?"

Parker snorted, as if that were the funniest thing she had heard all day.

"He tried," Eliot said with a smirk as the lock fell open in his hands.

"He's the wrong kind of fiddly," Parker explained, handing Eliot a new lock – one that hadn't been in the box.

Nate would never have expressed it like that, but recognised the essential truth of her description. Hardison would never spend hours patiently developing a skill completely unmatched to his talents. If he couldn't master something fast, he simply designed a way around it...in fact, Nate would not be terribly surprised to discover Parker 2000 (aka "Hardy") had a lock-picking little sister. Eliot, on the other hand, was probably the least "fiddly" person Nate had ever met, and what he was doing now had to be the result of hours and hours of practice over the past two years.

_You'd be surprised what people can do when they are properly motivated_, Nate had once heard Eliot tell Sterling over the comms in Dubai. He had been talking then about the speed with which a second shot could be prepared and fired from a particular weapon, and Nate had assumed the "motivation" he referred to had come with a hefty dose of adrenalin. But now, watching Eliot not just open the lock Parker had given him, but then proceed to lock and unlock it several more times with each hand until he was confident he knew it as well as all the other locks in her collection, Nate wondered how many of his skills had been developed in the same way. He had little difficulty picturing a younger Eliot loading, reloading, firing, stripping down and reassembling a rifle time and time again until he could perform all those actions at superhuman speed.

_I don't like guns_.

And thank heavens for that. Nate knew enough about the reasons behind that dislike to wish they were not included in the memories a man he counted as a friend carried. On the other hand, the events that caused Eliot Spencer to lay down his gun had, in doing so, saved more lives than they claimed – possibly including Nate's – and set him on the path that ultimately led to his inclusion in the Leverage team. Nate wouldn't wish that undone. He was proud of the work they had done – that Parker, Hardison and Eliot still did – and of the people they had become. Nate gave Parker a smile and went to see what havoc Hardison was wreaking in his electronics.


	12. Chapter 12

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

Nate and Sophie had planned on going to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. They invited the others, but Parker said that she had plans.

Hardison looked startled and started stammering out questions about what sort of plans.

"You'll be helping," Parker said, nonchalantly. "Eliot, too."

"What exactly would we be doing?" Eliot asked suspiciously.

Which is how they discovered that Parker had decided to spend Christmas Eve stealing toys from retailers whose business practices she disagreed with and delivering them to children living in foster homes and halfway houses around the city. She wanted Hardison to hack the Child Protective Services files to get the addresses and ages and genders of the children living at each of them to get a better idea of what toys she needed to leave where.

Eliot groaned.

"Parker, given that it's already eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, how exactly do you plan to do all that tonight?" he asked.

Parker shrugged.

"Santa manages it," she told him.

"Right." Sometimes he still managed to forget that Parker's view of the world was uniquely her own. "So, other than turning into Santa or stealing his reindeer, do you have a plan?"

She frowned at him, crossing her arms and heading rapidly for a pout. She might sulk for an hour or two, but Eliot was fairly sure the balance was tipping in his favour – and if he had to find her a bridge or skyscraper to jump off later to restore her good mood, so be it. But then he saw the "wheels turning" expression on Nate's face, and the "might be fun" glances he was exchanging with Sophie.

"We could scale it back," Nate suggested. "Make it workable."

Eliot glared at him from under lowered eyebrows, even as Parker's face lit up.

"Nate," Eliot started to protest, but Nate kept right on going.

"No, listen," he said. "There's this one mall that's been price-gouging on the popular items practically since the holiday shopping season started. If we made that the target, and then delivered the goods to shelters for abused women and children rather than trying to match gift to the kids ages or anything we'd have enough time for everything from recon to clean-up."

Hardison was already reaching for his laptop and asking for details on the mall, Parker was kissing a startled Nate on the cheek, and even Sophie had given a little bounce and hand-clap of excitement.

"Nate," Eliot growled, "can I talk to you and Sophie for a minute?"

He stalked out, leaving the other two to follow. Hardison kept his eyes pointedly fixed on his computer screen as Nate and Sophie exchanged glances and then followed Eliot through to living room. Parker waited a beat or two, then made to follow.

"Better not," Hardison called her back.

Parker hesitated, less willing than Hardison to let Eliot decide what they did and didn't know.

_"What the hell are you thinking?"_

The intensity of Eliot's growl, even from two rooms away, was enough to make up Parker's mind, and she returned to perch next to Hardison, peering at the blueprints he had up on his screen. But after that opening salvo, all three of the others kept their voices low enough that Parker and Hardison couldn't follow more than the tone...Eliot definitely wasn't winning, though, so neither of them was surprised when Nate came back in and asked for an update.

* * *

Eliot was practically vibrating with anger when Nate and Sophie joined him in the living room.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he demanded before they had even made it halfway across the room.

Sophie seated herself calmly on the couch, content to let Nate offer the first line of defences.

"What are we thinking?" Nate echoed. "The same thing we always thought: that there is an opportunity to rebalance the world's scales a little in favour of fairness. And, in this particular case, to give some families a better Christmas than they are expecting, while honouring the very odd tradition that our even odder family seems to have established."

"You guys got out of the game," Eliot reminded him. "You've spent two years building a good life here – you're starting a family. Do you really want to risk all that away for one night of excitement?"

Sophie and Nate's responses clashed in mid-air.

"We already have a family," Sophie protested.

"One job in one suburban mall barely registers on the risk scale when you consider the jobs we used to pull off," Nate said. "Or the jobs that you guys still do to judge by the stories Hardison and Parker have been telling."

Eliot shot Sophie a withering glare but chose to keep engaging Nate verbally.

"They need to learn to keep their mouths shut," Eliot said. "And risk isn't just about the actual danger involved. You have to weigh that against what you stand to lose, and you two have a whole lot more sitting on that side of the equation these days."

"So we won't get caught," Nate shrugged.

"Sophie's pregnant," Eliot hissed.

"Only a little bit," Sophie murmured, but Eliot rolled right over her words.

"You don't risk a kid when you don't need to," he said. "You know that, Nate."

Nate's expression sobered fast.

"Yeah, I know that," he said, looking over at Sophie.

"Oh, no," she said, reading his thoughts accurately. "This isn't 1955: you're not leaving me at home to keep the hearth warm."

Nate was looking between her and the still seething Eliot. There was no way he was going to be able to fully appease both of them – and, frankly, an angry Sophie was the scarier of the two.

"How do you feel about playing get-away driver?" he asked his wife.

"Now, that I could live with," she smiled.

Eliot, meanwhile, exploded.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" he demanded. "Do I have to remind you about the three times Nate got shot, the two times he got arrested, the time Hardison got kidnapped by Russians, and the time he got buried alive? Not to mention the whole blowing up the office thing in LA, or that fact that Nate's old apartment in Boston is still being staked out by just about every law enforcement agency out there? None of those jobs started out looking like they would end up where they did. What if tonight's goes the same way? You and your kid lose the whole Brady Bunch future you've been putting together for one night of excitement. Is it really worth that?"

Nate cleared his throat awkwardly. Both he and Sophie looked a little sheepish.

"This wouldn't exactly be the first job we've worked since moving here," Nate admitted.

"What?!"

"Well, the thing is," Sophie elaborated, "the whole 2.4 kids, white picket fence and a dog thing is really incredibly dull."

Eliot sat down, speechless.

"You remember when I asked you who on the team you thought would cope best with civilian life?" Sophie asked.

Eliot nodded.

"Well," she continued, "you were right about it not being me. I barely made it six months...Nate made it to eight, but I think only because he spent an entire month planning his first foray back into the world of masterminding. We don't do it often, but when the official good guys' hands are tied or they just don't give a damn, it feels pretty good to brush the dust off our skills and play hero again."

Eliot felt a fresh wave of anger flood through him, but he recognised the jealousy fuelling this one and clamped down on it hard. They had an opportunity to reclaim a life he would give his right arm and at least one leg for, and had just walked away from it as if it were nothing.

"What about your kid?" he asked gruffly. "Don't you think he or she deserves a chance at a normal life?"

"What's normal?" Sophie asked. "Our child is going to know that we love him or her more than anything. Beyond that, just like any other parents, we're going to have to figure it out as we go along."

Eliot shook his head, still not quite believing that Sophie and Nate – particularly Nate – would be willing to raise a child even at the edges of a life of crime. Then again, he reminded himself, Nate and Sophie's life of crime was generally a brighter one than his. Maybe not quite as playful as the one Parker and Hardison had created, but definitely more of a romantic adventure than the blood-stained path he walked. Provided they stayed out of handcuffs and away from bullets, it might not be a bad childhood.

"So, tonight...?" he left the query hanging.

"Isn't more of a risk than we have taken before," Nate filled in. "Probably less given that we have you three here for it."

Eliot nodded. As a team, they really had been the best of the best. He pushed to his feet, the last vestiges of anger giving way to resignation...maybe defeat.

"Fine," he said. "Just build your plan around a three-hour window, and no unnecessary risks."

Nate frowned.

"Why three hours?" he asked. "Is there something about the security system or guards' rotation that only fits into that window?"

"No," Eliot said bluntly, "that's just about how long I think I can guarantee being useful as back-up for anyone who needs it before another ride on the tilt-a-whirl hits."

He turned and made his way to the downstairs guestroom, leaving Nate cursing under his breath.

Sophie looked stricken. The day before, she had been pushing to delay Christmas dinner since its preparation would involve him spending hours on his feet, and she had spent a fair number of the past twelve hours devising excuses to get him to sit or lie down, and now here she was roping him into a Santa-heist.

"Do you think we should...?" she started asking Nate.

He shook his head.

"I don't think that would go over well either," he said. He cursed again. "It's just that when he's not actually falling over or bleeding out in front of you, he always seems so damn invincible."

Sophie winced, remembering the previous day's conversation.

"I know," she said. "But please don't say that to him."

Nate cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly, but Sophie shook her head.

"Later," she told him.

* * *

By midnight they had a plan in place and Parker and Eliot were sneaking through eerily empty department stores to load sacks with Christmas presents. By quarter past three the job was pretty much complete; Parker and Nate were just delivering the last load of gifts to the shelters they had chosen – after that, all the remained was to return the delivery truck they had "borrowed", and to go home. The whole process had gone remarkably smoothly, and both Nate and Parker were grinning as they jogged back to where Sophie had parked the SUV behind the truck.

Eliot was behind the wheel of the delivery truck, still radiating disapproval despite the fact that everything had gone without a hitch. He had not, however, commented on the stupidity of their doing this since they left the house, and that held true now. All he said as Parker swung herself up into the cab next to him and he slid the truck into gear was, "Let's go."

Sophie took a longer route back to the lot they had taken the truck from, factoring in time for Eliot and Parker to stop and refill the truck's gas tank. Parker was just locking the lot's gate behind them when Sophie pulled up. She and Eliot joined Hardison in the backseat, and Sophie pulled around the corner so that Hardison could hack back into the security cameras and end the video loop he had set up.

"That was fun!" Parker exclaimed when Hardison confirmed that he was out of all the systems and no alarms seemed to have been triggered by their late night activities. "We should do this every year."

Eliot glared at her and gave a deep-pitched growl that echoed ominously through everyone's comm. units.

Hardison laughed, pulling Parker into a sideways hug and then reaching his arm past her to jab Eliot playfully in the shoulder.

"C'mon man," he said, "admit you had a little fun tonight. If you'd really wanted to stop us from going out, all you needed to do was tell us the vertigo was still messing with you too bad."

Eliot stared at him.

"Seriously?" Hardison frowned as he read Eliot's expression. "You didn't think of that?"

Eliot looked away, shrugging.

"This thing didn't need five people," he said. "Or a hitter, really. Just figured y'all would do it anyway."

"Nope," Parker told him. "If this our family Christmas tradition, it needs all of us – even when it doesn't."

Eliot didn't bother trying to parse that sentence. His eyes met hers briefly and he recognised both her determination to hang onto the idea of the team as family, and her denial that that couldn't work anymore...at least not completely. He shook his head, turning so that his forehead rested on the window next to him and sliding the comm. unit out of his ear so the others wouldn't hear his frustrated muttering.

Back at the house, Sophie wished everyone a Merry Christmas and a good night and went upstairs to bed. Eliot, likewise, made a beeline for his bedroom. Parker followed Nate into the kitchen, still too wired to think about sleeping. Nate made coffee and Parker poured herself a bowl of cereal. Hardison logged back into his laptop, toggling between triple checking that no-one had picked up on their night's activities and World of Warcraft – his favourite outlet for the post-job adrenalin. Nate let the sounds of Parker and Hardison rehashing the high points of the night wash over him. He didn't exactly regret his mostly-retirement, but he did miss the camaraderie and satisfaction of a successful team job. He stayed, listening until it became clear that their focus had shifted to dwarves, orcs and trolls, then left them to it. Parker lasted a little longer, but her yawns gradually overtook her 'helpful' comments on Hardison's tactics and strategies and she too headed for bed.

"I'll be up in a bit," Hardison told her.

"'kay," she said.

But two hours later, when Eliot's door snicked quietly open, Hardison was still online, fingers tapping and head bobbing in time to the music playing at low volume in the background. He looked up as Eliot came in, eyes flicking in surprise to the clock.

"Hey," he said in greeting. "You all done sleeping?"

Eliot grunted.

"You thought about getting any yet?" he asked.

"I am inches away from completing a quest chain I've been working on for three months," Hardison said, focusing back on the screen. "I'll sleep when I'm done."

Eliot rolled his eyes but didn't respond otherwise.

"You want anything?" he asked, moving past Hardison into the kitchen to fill the kettle.

"I'm good," Hardison said, tilting his head at the half-full bottle of orange soda next to him.

Conversation lapsed as Eliot made tea and then headed back into the living room. He turned the television on, waiting for the early morning news. It had just started when he heard Hardison give a whoop of triumph, followed shortly by the sounds of the hacker shutting down his computer. Eliot heard footsteps heading his way, and in his peripheral vision saw Hardison settle into the armchair next to the couch Eliot was sitting on.

"Anything interesting on the news?" Hardison asked.

"Not us, if that's what you mean," Eliot replied.

They watched the announcers trying to be perky and festive at six in the morning for a few minutes. Hardison shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Hey, E?" he started hesitantly. "Is there something going on with you and Parker that I need to know about?"

Eliot frowned at him.

"Parker's worried about something," Hardison continued. "And she keeps sneaking into your place to sleep."

Eliot sighed.

"I told her she needs to stop doing that – that eventually it would bother you," he said.

"Nah, it's not that," Hardison disclaimed. "If she sleeps better over at your house some nights and you don't mind her being there, I don't have a problem with it. But it's been happening a lot lately, and I thought you might know why she feels like she needs to."

Eliot pressed his head back into the couch, eyes wandering away from Hardison to stare sightlessly at the ceiling.

"I don't think it's anything you need to worry about," he said at last. "Parker's just realising that some of the changes she's made to her life come with a cost, and she's not wild about the payment."

"She does love money," Hardison observed.

Eliot's lips quirked up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"That's not the kind of payment you're talking about it, is it?" Hardison continued.

Eliot shook his head.

"No," he agreed. "You don't need to worry though, okay? She'll be all right."

Hardison didn't look convinced.

"Hey," Eliot leant forward to pin Hardison with his gaze. "Just trust me on this one. She'll be all right."

Hardison hesitated a moment longer, but finally nodded, then yawned.

Eliot reached out and gave Hardison's shoulder a gentle shove.

"Go get some sleep, man," he said. "You have hours of Christmas-Parker still to deal with."

Hardison yawned again, pushing to his feet.

"Yeah," he grinned. "G'night."

"'Night," Eliot acknowledged – not pointing out the irony of this greeting at six in the morning.


	13. Chapter 13

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's note: I learnt a new trick - how to insert horizontal lines to delineate breaks within chapters! Yay! (especially since Chapter 12 probably should have been split into two chapters...I went back and added the horizontal lines instead when I realized that!). Anyway, here's the next installment. I hope you like it!_

_PS. This is a foodie chapter, so you might want to go and grab a snack before reading! :)  
_

The story of "Santa's" visit to various abuse shelters around the city was the leading story on the local news by evening, and it wasn't hard to match the bounty received to the inventory lost by the stores. As Nate had predicted, no one with any kind of business sense was willing to be known as the company that took presents away from abused children on Christmas – and their failure to reclaim the items after locating them in still-new condition invalidated their insurance claims, ensuring the shopping centre and its stores bore the brunt of the cost and putting the final touch on Nate's version of Parker's plan.

The team watched the story unfold, a satisfying end to a pleasant Christmas day. Sophie and Hardison had both slept the morning away while Parker and Eliot explored the nearby park in daylight (and, at least in Parker's case, found a bridge or two to jump off), leaving Nate to get on with Nate things. Sophie was enforcing Eliot's ban from the kitchen, so lunch consisted of omelettes _à là Nate_ – one dish he could reliably produce thanks to his stint on kitchen detail in the prison – and dinner of soup and grilled cheese, followed by Sophie's plum pudding. Eliot had borne the ban with reasonable grace, and Hardison's disappointment at the lack of green bean casserole was appeased by the promise of its inclusion in the proper Eliot-cooked Christmas dinner in a couple of days. With a little assistance from their various preferences of whiskey, apple cider, orange soda, and beer, and a roaring fire, they had a relaxed, cosy evening, by mutual agreement putting aside the tensions that had been running just beneath the surface the past few days, and focusing on such things as what to name the holiday beer that Parker insisted should be added to the Brewpub's menu.

The previous night's job had messed with everyone's sleep schedules. George and Mary barely had time to end the bank run in _It's a Wonderful Life_ before both Parker and Nate were fast asleep in front of the television. Sophie, Eliot and Hardison, meanwhile were all wide awake. They finished the movie, then moved on to poker. The played a few hands before Nate's snoring reached the intolerable level and Sophie decided it was time to wake him up and take him to bed. The movement woke Parker and she and Hardison followed them upstairs, leaving Eliot to play solitaire or work through a _kata _series as he chose.

* * *

The next day, Eliot declared his ban from the kitchen over. He threw the others out after breakfast, telling them to stay away and not to eat too much for lunch. With the room to himself, he laid out his ingredients and settled into the rhythm of prep work, letting the final details of the menu and his tactical cooking plan coalesce in his mind. Ten hours of delicious smells, and assorted sounds of chopping, sizzling, and clanging pots later, he re-opened the doors and pronounced dinner ready.

Sophie set the dining-room table. Hardison and Parker helped Eliot carry the food through, while Nate opened the wine. Eliot grabbed a beer instead, and joined the others at the table, tired and sweaty after the day spent in the warm kitchen, but more relaxed and wearing an expression of satisfied contentment. It was more than just the cooking, Sophie thought as she watched him settle into his seat. He looked like a man who had reached a final decision on a dilemma that had been weighing on him and, having committed to a particular course of action, shed the burden of uncertainty.

Not surprisingly, considering he had spent the entire day working with food, Eliot wasn't particularly interested in eating the meal he had prepared. He sipped his beer and watched the others' reactions, accepting their compliments with pleasure and answering questions about ingredients. He chuckled when Hardison, putting his nose within millimetres of the massive helping of green bean casserole on his plate, inhaled the aromatic steam in closed-eye ecstasy, and commented on how much he had missed "Eliot-food". Nate and Sophie laughingly agreed, but the term seemed to remind Parker of something. Her fork halted midway between her plate and her mouth, and she sat for a long time staring first at the morsel of food balanced on its tines, then at her plate, and finally at the whole array of food on the table. Slowly, she started tasting the selection of foods on her plate, paying careful attention to the presentation, aroma, taste and texture of each – just as Eliot had coached her through the process of finding feeling in art (culinary or otherwise) and her brief stint as a food critic. Eliot watched her, waiting for her final verdict. But after her third taste she laid her knife and fork down.

"We can't eat this," she said, her words cutting across the others' praise and chatter with a suddenness that caused Hardison to choke.

"What do you mean?" Hardison demanded, when he could breathe again. "It's food and it's delicious. Of course we're going to eat it!"

"No," Parker reached over to pin his fork hand to the table before he could scoop up another mouthful. "Eliot put all his good things into it. If we eat it, they'll be gone."

Eliot, Hardison and Nate were all frowning at Parker as if she had gone mad.

Sophie was staring at her plate. While eating, all she had been aware of was the delicious flavour and texture of the food. But now, hearing Parker's words, she recognised her pleasure had been as much in the warm feelings of _family_ and _home_ that the food evoked as in the physical sensations of taste and feel. The infusion of feeling was nothing unusual – it was what set Eliot's cooking apart. What had worried Parker was the sheer volume of feeling poured into this meal – a one-time gift of everything, with nothing held in reserve. Sophie thought of her recent conversations with Eliot – of _enough_ and _everything_ – and her breath caught as she finally grasped the ramifications of what he had been saying. It was a terrible, _terrifying_, gift to knowingly receive, and while Parker hadn't figured out the details of it yet, Eliot's cooking had let her see far enough into his head to get the gist. Sophie didn't blame her for objecting.

"It's food, Parker," Eliot growled. "Eating it is kind of the point."

Parker shook her head, not knowing how else to explain.

"It's not just food," she said stubbornly. "If we eat it, we'll never be able to get the pieces of you that you put in it back."

Eliot leant back in his chair, arms folded and brow furrowed, as he searched for the Parker-logic underlying her words.

"People change," he told her eventually. It was the wrong thing to say. Parker stood abruptly, dropping Hardison's wrist.

"I don't want you to," she told him. "Not like this."

Parker swallowed, then turned her eyes from Eliot to Nate and Sophie.

"You were supposed to fix him," she said, equal parts accusation and disappointment in her voice, then left before either of them could respond.

Hardison started to stand as they heard the front door close behind her, but Eliot shook his head. He tilted his beer bottle to get the last mouthful, then put it down.

"I'll go," he said. "You guys eat before it all gets cold."


	14. Chapter 14

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: More reviews mean more chapters :) ... Also, we're getting to the meat of the story now (at least, the meat as things stood before the story grew to twice its anticipated size), which makes me more impatient to keep things moving. I hope you like this one!_

Eliot grabbed a coat for Parker as well as himself on his way out. She hadn't gone far. She was sitting on the front porch steps, arms wrapped round her legs and chin resting on her knees. She unwound long enough to shrug on the coat Eliot handed her as he sat down beside her.

"You want to try explaining?" he asked.

Parker shrugged.

"That wasn't really a question, y'know?" he nudged her.

She squinted at him, _why ask like it was?_ written all over her face.

Eliot sighed.

"What was it about the food that bothered you?" he asked.

"It tasted like last times and leaving," Parker blurted out. "And you said cooking was how you let people see inside your head."

"I'm not leaving, Parker," he told her.

"You've already left," she said sadly.

"What?!" he protested. "I'm right here."

"Changed, then," Parker dismissed his objection.

"People do that, Parker," he told her. "Nothing stays the same forever."

Parker gave him a scathing look.

"We're supposed to change together," she said.

"It doesn't always work like that," Eliot told her. "Sometimes we need to change in different ways to keep the whole thing working."

She scowled.

"We were working just fine before," she said. "And we had more fun. You didn't have to change."

"The jobs changed," he told her. "We've been going after bigger, meaner targets more likely to retaliate, and pissing off a lot of people on both sides of the law while doing so. Ignoring that would be stupid."

"And, what? The best solution is for you to be our watchdog instead of our friend?"

Eliot didn't flinch. Parker almost wished he would, because the steady gaze he turned on her was far more unnerving.

"If that's how you want to look at it, yes," he said. "If you want to put it another way, it's about me being in the best position to do what needs to be done to keep us safe and able to keep helping people."

"Doing what needs to be done used to be both our jobs," Parker pointed out.

"Used to be," Eliot agreed.

Parker frowned, turning that over in her head to figure out what he meant.

"You've changed too, Parker," Eliot explained.

"I haven't!" she snapped. "I don't change unless I want to, and I liked how everything was."

"You have," Eliot insisted, quietly but relentlessly. "But it's a good thing. You and Hardison somehow made a way through that wall that used to separate us from the rest of the team for you: your instinct now is to do the right thing, not whatever is needed to get the job done."

"No," Parker denied.

Eliot kept quiet, giving her time to think it through.

"No," she said again, coming to stand in front of him, arms folded defiantly across her chest. "You said that being able to do the things the others couldn't or wouldn't do was a gift. How can it be a good thing for me to stop being that?"

"I said you could take it as a gift," Eliot reminded her. "And that's the best way to look at it from my side of that wall. But it's a gift you give to others, not a gift for yourself."

"What if I want to keep doing that?" her voice shook.

Eliot stood to meet her eye-to-eye.

"You don't," he told her. "I know it's frightening because you've never lived on the other side before, but it's a good life. A better one. And the closer you've got to it, the happier you have been. All you've got to do is take the final step and close the door behind you."

"Come with me?" There were tears starting now.

Eliot shook his head.

"I spent a lot of time looking for a way through, over, or under that wall," he told her. "There isn't one for me, and I don't want one anymore."

"Then how can you tell me it's a better life?"

"Because it is," Eliot insisted. "It's just not one that I can live."

"I don't understand."

Eliot was starting to think he needed to give Hardison more credit for patience.

"Look," he said, a little impatience creeping into his own tone, "my job is to keep everyone safe. To do that, I have to be able to the kinds of things most people can't or won't do. For me, the pay-off is worth it. I would rather do those things than have something happen and then have to live with knowing I could have prevented it."

"But that's what you expect me to do," Parker said, wanting to be sure she understood correctly.

Eliot paused. He hadn't really considered that she would see herself in that position.

"No," he told her. "It has never been your job to prevent those things from happening – at least, not by doing the kind of things I do. And besides, I'll be here to take care of them."

"And if they happen to you? Who's keeping you safe?"

"I am," he replied. "You, Hardison, and I all do what we can to watch out for each other, but I watch my own back too. None of that changes."

"But – " Parker started.

"And if it ever does come down to that?" he interrupted, really not wanting to hear her say the words. "You need to know that I'm okay with it ending there. You two keep yourselves safe, and your hands clean, and I'll thank you for it a lot more than any stupid heroics."

Parker was smart enough not to argue with that. She recognised the truth when she heard it.

"So, I have to leave you behind," she said.

"Yeah," he smiled a little, the argument was apparently over. "Think of it as your last time doing what needs to be done. And as my gift to you."

She nodded, face settling into resolution.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"You start by going inside and eating Christmas dinner with your family," he told her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I'll be in, in a bit," he said. "Will you grab me another beer on your way?"

She nodded, turning towards the door. After a couple of steps, though, she turned around again and came back, wrapping him in a boa constrictor-type hug.

"We're your family too, Eliot," she told him. "And we're the world's best thieves. So, we could steal you, too, just like they stole me."

Eliot's eyes squeezed closed, and he couldn't have said if it was with pain or laughter.

"You can't steal what's already been given to you, darlin'," he reminded her. "Besides, I'm right where I need – and want – to be. Now, go eat before the food gets any colder."


	15. Chapter 15

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: See, not ending yet - not by a long shot! Plenty more chapters of putting my favourite five characters through their various emotional wringers. But first, it is time to do the dishes. :)  
_

The dinner table Parker returned to was subdued. Even Hardison had done little more than pick at the food while they waited to see how things played out between Parker and Eliot. Nobody said anything as Parker came in, pointedly set a fresh bottle of beer down at Eliot's place, and took her seat, but they were all watching her. She picked her knife and fork back up, taking a deep breath, as if to steel herself for a daunting task.

"Everything okay, mama?" Hardison asked quietly.

She gave him a brief nod, then speared half a roast potato and shoved it quickly into her mouth.

Nate waited until she was finished chewing before posing his own question.

"Anything you want to tell us about what just happened?" he asked.

Parker thought about it, then shook her head.

Nate sighed. He doubted Eliot would be any more forthcoming.

"Eliot say he was coming back in?" he asked, instead of pressing further.

Parker swallowed her second potato.

"Yeah," she said. "He asked for another beer. These potatoes are really good."

And, with that, at least the superficial tone of the evening snapped back to pleasant family dinner, so that when Eliot slid into his chair a couple of minutes later and opened his beer, there was conversation flowing that readily opened to include him. And if Parker's enjoyment was a little forced at times, and Sophie periodically got lost in contemplation, while Nate shot curious glances at Eliot and Hardison was being studiously incurious in the glances and words he exchanged with both Parker and Eliot, that was okay. Sometimes the important part was trying, and if it successfully created an exterior framework, the interior had a chance to fill itself. It seemed to work in this case – helped, no doubt, by the wine and beer (and orange soda and ginger ale) they were drinking - so that by the time they were tucking into hot apple pie, the pervasive feeling was one of contented happiness, even hominess, and they lingered over dessert. Finally, though, conversation tapered off and yawns started making their way around the table. Hardison stretched and nudged Parker.

"We've got the dishes," he said, standing and collecting dessert plates.

Parker stood to help. Eliot leant back in his chair, a smirk unnoticed by the younger two settling across his features. The reason for it became rapidly obvious as Hardison's voice rang out from the kitchen in complaint.

"Eliot, man, how could you possibly use this many pots and dishes for just one meal?"

"Ooh, let me see!" Parker squealed, hurrying after him. "We could build a dish tower and then cover it in soap bubbles!"

"Nate," Sophie said, alarmed. "We used the good dishes! Please go and supervise."

Eliot chuckled as Nate headed for the kitchen.

Sophie gave him a baleful look.

"You did that deliberately, didn't you?" she asked.

Eliot laughed again. He usually followed a "clean it as you go" approach in the kitchen, but on this occasion had let a fair collection of dirty pots, pans, and utensils accumulate next to the sink.

"It just wouldn't be Christmas without at least one argument over who's going to wash the enormous pile of dirty dishes," he admitted.

Sophie rolled her eyes.

"Well, as long as I'm not the one washing them..." she said.

"Exactly," Eliot replied.

They sat a moment longer before Sophie stood to continue clearing the table.

"It was a wonderful meal, Eliot," she said sincerely. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," he replied with a smile. But Sophie couldn't help noticing the lack of any comment about doing it again next Christmas.


	16. Chapter 16

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Here's the next installment. Thank you to all those who are still reading and reviewing (and those who are reading but not reviewing - so long as you're enjoying it, either option works!). We have finally passed the halfway point in the chapter count and are headed rapidly for the point where the thing that I had intended to be a brief epilogue morphed into an additional ten chapters. Oh well. At least in this electronic age I can honestly claim that no trees were injured by my inability to keep this story under control! _

_Mothtolight - see the bottom of this chapter for a reply to your last set of comments...my reply started getting a bit long, so I moved it down there!_

From the way he kept shifting in the bed beside her, Sophie knew Nate wasn't sleeping either. She rolled over to face him.

"Hey," she said.

Nate tilted his head towards hers on the pillow.

"Hey," he replied.

"So," she said, bringing her hand up to his chest, "we screwed up."

"Yes, we did," Nate sighed. He reached up to take her hand, carried it to his lips and then laid it back on his chest, thumb running lightly over her fingers."Umm, when exactly?"

Sophie smiled a little at that.

"Probably more times than we can count," she said, curling a little closer. "But I was thinking about when we left Portland."

"You think we should have stayed?" Nate asked, moving their hands down to where her baby bump was just starting to become obvious.

Sophie smiled again, but sobered quickly.

"Not necessarily," she told him. "But we could probably have handled leaving better."

"What do you mean?" Nate asked.

Sophie gave his hand a quick squeeze, then pulled hers free to push herself and her pillow into a sitting position against the headboard.

"I mean that we handed the three of them the tools to start a war, warned Hardison not to get cocky, and made sure Parker was okay with us leaving, but Eliot..." Sophie trailed off.

Nate sighed, pushing himself up to sit next to her.

"I told him to protect the other two, Nate," Sophie continued.

"He would have done that anyway," Nate argued.

"And you pretty much told him not to need our help," she went on, ignoring his interjection.

"Now, that's not true," Nate protested. "I said that he never seemed to need anything."

"Same thing," Sophie countered.

"Except that Eliot said he had needed something, and that he had found it," Nate was playing devil's advocate now, determined not to let Sophie lay more than their share of the guilt across their shoulders.

Sophie was silent for a moment, staring down at her hands.

"He didn't, Nate," she said quietly.

"Didn't find it?" he asked, puzzled.

"Didn't say that he had," Sophie clarified. "He said that thanks to you he didn't need to search anymore."

"Which implies that he had found what he needed," Nate said, not seeing where she was going with this.

Sophie shook her head.

"Maybe," she said. "But it could also mean that he didn't need to look for it, because he realised couldn't have it anyway."

"Sophie," Nate protested, "Eliot is probably the most self-sufficient man either of us will ever meet. What are you getting at?"

"I think we need to steal Eliot a future," Sophie replied promptly.

Nate searched her face. His lips quirked up into a half-smile.

"Nice delivery," he said.

"Na-ate," Sophie prompted him to get back on track, but still preened a little under the compliment.

"What kind of future do you have in mind?" he asked.

"The kind in which he's not preparing to sacrifice himself to keep Parker and Hardison safe," Sophie said.

It was Nate's turn to spend a few moments in silent contemplation.

"Parker wants us to 'fix' him," he said at last.

Sophie frowned at the apparent non sequitur.

"I told her," Nate continued, "that he's not broken."

"What's your point, Nate?" Sophie asked.

"My point," Nate said slowly, "is that, for Eliot, giving his life to protect the two of them, would probably be one of the better endings to the story...A way of atoning for the things in his past he regards as unforgivable."

Sophie would blame the pregnancy hormones for the tears spilling past her lashes: Sophie Deveraux only cried when she stood to gain from the waterworks.

"I know that, Nate," she told him, reaching for his hand again. "And – for him – I'm not worried about that. What scares me is that I think he is preparing himself for the probability that he is going to have to kill someone to keep them safe."

Nate took a slow breath in. He knew, better than Sophie, what Eliot's "work history" entailed – and had been on the receiving end of a similar favour in the warehouse filled with Moreau's men years before. He had to concede, however, that Sophie might nonetheless have a better read on what that history had cost the man.

"So, what do you think we should do about it?" Nate asked.

"I don't know," Sophie confessed. "The only way I can think of avoiding that scenario is to convince Eliot to get as far away from all four of us as he can, and to stay gone. Unfortunately, all the ways I can think of getting him to do that would destroy him just as completely in a whole different way...and may not work anyway."

"So no good options, then?" Nate asked, tugging her into his side.

Sophie shook her head against his shoulder.

"Then, maybe," Nate said in measured tones, "we don't do anything."

He pulled Sophie into a tighter hug as he felt her draw breath to launch a protest.

"No, listen for a moment, Sophie," he continued. "Eliot knows his options and is making his choice with his eyes wide open. Maybe we need to respect that, and not make it any harder than it needs to be."

"I don't want to," Sophie sniffed. She blamed the hormones for that, too.

"Neither do I," Nate told her. "But he's giving us Hardison and Parker. They need us more – and in ways that we can actually do something about."

"Still..." Sophie's mind could follow the logic of Nate's reasoning, but her heart continued to lodge protests.

"I know," Nate's sigh this time was more defeated than exasperated or resigned. "There are times, though, when the closest you can come to making something better is not making it any worse. I think that's about all we have to offer Eliot right now."

"It shouldn't be."

"No, but we both know, better than most, that life isn't exactly fair."

"I still want him to be our child's godfather."

"He was always going to say no to that, Sophie."

"Maybe. But maybe he needs a reminder that there are pieces of a life out there that he wants, waiting for him to pick them up."

"What happened to not make this any harder than it needs to be?" Nate muttered under his breath.

"Just ask him, Nate. Please?"

Nate sighed.

"Fine," he said eventually. "In the morning."

* * *

_Additional author's note: _

_Mothtolight: Thanks for the review - I'm glad you're still enjoying it! No terminal illnesses* in this one, but there are many ways of leaving - including without going anywhere at all. I think it is obvious by this point that this story I headed in a direction at least related to your speculation, but the team as Eliot's moral anchor isn't quite the perspective I wrote it from...not that that means it didn't still turn out that way from the reader's point of view, and I would be interested in knowing if that is the case when we get to the end (so please don't die of suspense in the meantime)! I see Eliot as being very much the captain of his own fate, so while his relationship with the team definitely influences his decisions, it is not their responsibility to anchor him. His choice are his own._

*I was, until the other day, happily free of any desire to kill Eliot (he is so much more fun alive). And then I discovered this little gem s/7471682/1/Terminal by Poestheblackcat and three-quarters of a sequel and a spin-off immediately popped into my head. Darn it.


	17. Chapter 17

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's note: This is another monstrously long one, so, since I had to be online anyway, I thought Sunday night might be a less cruel posting time than Monday morning. This way, if you're late for work tomorrow it is your fault rather than mine! :)_

For the first time in a week, the kitchen was empty when Nate got downstairs the next morning. Sophie was still sleeping, and he had heard Hardison and Parker playing some video game as he came downstairs, but he had expected to find Eliot either cooking or sitting at the breakfast counter with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper. The paper was still outside and the chains were still fastened on both the doors; the kitchen hadn't been touched since the last dish had been put – or swept – away the night before. It was possible Eliot was still sleeping. He may not sleep much or for very many consecutive hours, but he did tend to grab an hour or two at unpredictable times. Nate set about making coffee, skimming the headlines in the paper as he did so. It was only after he had taken his first sip that he headed towards Eliot's room.

Pausing outside the door, he could hear someone moving around inside. He knocked and waited for the quiet 'Come in' before opening the door.

Eliot was packing.

In retrospect, Nate realised he should have expected that.

"You heading out?" he asked.

Eliot turned to look at him, and nodded.

"Time someone got back to Portland," he said. "The others can follow in their own time."

"Oh," Nate said stupidly. "You need a ride to the airport?"

Eliot put the last couple of items in his duffle bag and zipped it closed.

"No," he said, sitting down on the bed and looking up at Nate. "Got a cab coming in about half an hour."

"Okay," Nate said, then just stood there, sipping his coffee.

Eliot smiled a little grimly.

"Something you wanted to talk about, Nate?" he asked.

"Yes," Nate said, but took another couple of sips before continuing. "Sophie and I want you to be our child's godfather."

"No you don't," Eliot replied.

Nate sighed, and sat down beside him.

"We do," he said, "but I told her you'd say no. Since she's going to demand a full explanation, care to fill me in on your reasoning?"

"You know why," Eliot told him. "Ask Hardison to do it, or your friend Father Paul. Even better, ask Bonnano – I bet 'Uncle Pat' would make a great godfather."

"Eliot," Nate stopped him.

Eliot sighed.

"You really want me to spell it out for you, man? Fine. For the same reason you never introduced me to Sam and Maggie back when my retrieval jobs started overlapping with your IYS cases: people who do the kind of thing I've done don't mix real well with the family."

"Sophie would remind you that you're not that man anymore," Nate told him.

Eliot chuckled mirthlessly.

"You know, she's said that so often that I think she actually believes it," he said. "But you and I both know I'll always be the man that did those things – and that I'm capable of doing them again if needed. There's no way to get clean of that. And even if you and Sophie are willing to expose your kid to that, I'm not."

"Okay," Nate said.

"Just had to make me say it, didn't you?"

"I had to be sure I was right about what you were thinking," Nate clarified. "You do realise that it's that very protectiveness that makes you perfect for the job?"

Eliot shrugged.

"Catch-22, man. Sorry."

Nate gave a little snort of amusement. They sat in silence for a few moments before Nate stood up.

"So, breakfast?" he asked.

Eliot nodded.

"Yeah," he said.

Nate was heading for the door when Eliot's voice stopped him.

"You know I'm not coming back, right?" Eliot asked. "And you know why?"

Nate froze, then turned slowly. Eliot was still sitting on the bed, eyes on hands linked between his knees. When Nate didn't answer immediately, he lifted his eyes to Nate's face, searching for an answer.

"I do," Nate told him. "What I'm not sure I get is why you think you need to push Parker and Hardison away."

"Not away," Eliot said. "Just into seeing me differently in relation to themselves."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Nate asked.

Eliot shrugged.

"Maybe," he conceded. "Guess it depends on where you start out and finish up."

"So why do you need them to see you differently?"

"I need them to see me the way you used to," Eliot explained. "So that when we end up in a situation like that warehouse with Moreau's men they can do what you did: walk away and let me handle it, then still be able to look me and themselves in the eye the next day so that we can finish the job or move on to the next one."

"And right now they couldn't do that?"

"Right now," Eliot said, frustration threading through his voice, "they see me more as a friend or a brother or something than a member of the team with very specific skills. Anything I do seems to them almost as much their act as mine."

"You could just keep not doing things that they can't carry," Nate suggested.

"And lose one or both of them when I know I could have prevented it?" Eliot countered. "No. I have enough innocent blood on my hands."

"Eliot," Nate started, then seemed to lose momentum. Eliot waited for him to find it again. Nate came over and sat back down beside him.

"There is a large part of me that knows I should tell you to grab your bag, walk out the front door and keep going until you have put the maximum possible distance between yourself and the rest of us before you find yourself in a position where you'll have to make that choice again," he told the younger man.

"But?" Eliot prompted.

"But that leaves your team less effective, and Parker and Hardison vulnerable." Nate continued. "Even so... There is a future out there that could be yours, Eliot. A good one. I know you've walked away from it before, and I know at least some of where that led you. I guess the magnitude of what you're willing to give up – this time with your eyes wide open – frankly terrifies me."

Eliot took his time responding, choosing the words that would explain to the man who had given him a second shot at that future why he was walking away again.

"It's not that big, when you know what it's weighed against," he said. "And when you know it's not really an option."

Nate cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for more.

"I told you when you left the team that I had needed something and that, thanks to you, I didn't have to search anymore," Eliot reminded him.

Nate nodded.

"What I needed," Eliot when on, then paused, changing the tense of that. "What I need is something to put on my side of the scale against the lives I took from people who deserved to keep them a whole lot more...Something that means my getting up every morning and going to bed every night is something besides some kind of cruel joke. So, did I want that future when it looked like I had a second chance at it? Of course I did, Nate. But when you're looking at something you want and something you need and you know you can't have both, only an idiot goes for what they want."

"And you're sure you can't have both?"

"Yes," Eliot said. "There might be men out there who could walk both roads, or at least risk trying. But I'm not one of them. I was never looking redemption, Nate... I know that I don't fit into that picture long term."

Nate nodded thoughtfully. He had had a fair idea of how Eliot viewed himself and his life since before the team had formed. He had hoped at one point, but not really expected, to change that. Weight on Eliot's side of the scale was probably as much as Eliot was willing to accept.

"I understand," he said at last. "And I won't interfere. But, Eliot, I want you to promise me one thing."

"What?" Eliot asked cautiously.

Nate fixed Eliot's eyes with his own.

"Don't get so focused on expecting to have to takes lives to keep Parker and Hardison safe that you lose sight of the other options."

"I promise," Eliot said. "Trust me, it's not something I take lightly, Nate."

"Good," Nate said briskly, standing up again. "Keep it that way. Now, do you still have time for breakfast?"

Eliot glanced at his watch, lips quirking a little in amusement at the abrupt shift in tone.

"For coffee, at least," he said, standing to follow Nate.

* * *

The smell of the second pot of coffee brewing enticed Sophie downstairs. She had cut down on caffeine significantly since finding out she was pregnant, but eliminating coffee entirely was asking too much of someone living with Nate Ford and his endless parade of signature blends and designer beans. In a replay of the first morning after Eliot, Parker and Hardison arrived, she headed first for the coffee, then Nate, then Eliot, distributing the appropriate morning kisses. Eliot tried to picture how it would go in about year's time with a high chair added to the breakfast scene. At least he could be sure Nate knew roughly how babies worked; he wasn't quite so sure about Sophie...maybe he needed to add a nanny to the picture? One who wouldn't ask too many questions when Mommy and Daddy decided to exercise their con artist skills in the names of justice, equality, and the thrill of the chase, apparently. Of one thing he could be fairly sure: this kid was going to be a force of nature long before his or her fifth birthday.

Eliot shook himself out of these thoughts to find Sophie eyeing him speculatively.

"What?" he asked.

"Was that your bag I saw out in the front hall?" she asked. "Is the holiday over?"

"There's some stuff I want to take care of in Portland," Eliot replied. "We going to argue about it?"

Sophie looked like she was considering it. He could see the demand to know what couldn't wait a few more days lining up on her tongue, but she shook her head.

"Not unless there's something we need to argue about," she said. "Neither of us is throwing a hissy fit this time."

"Nope," he said.

"What time do you need to leave?" Sophie asked.

Eliot glanced at his watch, but a horn honked outside before he could answer.

"That's probably my cab," he said, standing to carry his coffee cup to the sink.

"A little warning would be nice next time," Sophie said, her tone only half joking.

Eliot turned to her, startled.

"Sophie...," he started, but trailed off.

Sophie sat up straighter, reading the unspoken words in his face.

"Oh," she said. "So this is it, then?"

Eliot grimaced.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I meant to time it a little better."

Saving situations gone awry was what Sophie did best, so from one breath to the next she went from shocked to gracious hostess.

"This is better," she assured him. "No time to get maudlin."

"Yeah."

Nate cleared his throat.

"I'll go tell the cab driver you'll be out in a minute," he said, correctly guessing that they would both rather say good bye in private.

"Thanks, Nate," Eliot said.

Neither Sophie nor Eliot spoke until they heard the front door close behind him.

"I'm glad you came," Sophie said quietly.

"Me too," Eliot told her.

"I'm going to miss you," she said next.

"Me too," Eliot said again, mouth quirking to acknowledge the unoriginality of his response.

Sophie gave a little laugh that turned into a sob halfway.

"Stupid pregnancy hormones," she said, blinking the tears way.

Eliot snagged a box of tissues from the counter and came back over to stand next to her.

"I know," he said, offering her the box.

Sophie took a tissue, blowing her nose delicately and dabbing at her eyes.

"I need to ask you a favour, Soph," Eliot said, when she looked back up at him.

"Of course," she said. "What is it?"

Eliot sighed.

"I need you to stop calling me," he said, reluctantly.

Sophie opened her mouth to protest.

"Please, Sophie?" he stopped her. "I told you before that I am always going to pick up your calls, so ... I need you to only call me if you need my help – my real help, not advice on cooking food your three-year-old will actually eat or something."

Sophie really didn't want to agree to that. Granted, the last two years had not exactly been filled with long or meaningful phone conversations, but her periodic calls had turned into an almost playful competition – him trying to get off the phone as fast as possible (without actually saying so) after determining she wasn't calling with any real emergency, her calling him out on the excuses he offered for cutting the conversation short and trying to prolong it as much as possible. She was going to miss both the low-throated growl in her ear and the sense of triumph when she successfully trapped him in a white lie and forced him into staying on the phone. But also running through her head was Nate's voice the night before, telling her that the best they had to offer Eliot was not making what he was doing harder than it needed to be.

"Okay," she said. "I can do that."

"Thank you," he told her.

The sound of the front door opening and closing again reminded them that time was short.

"Eliot?" Nate's voice called out. "You ready?"

"Coming," Eliot called back.

Sophie walked with him through to the front hall and waited while he shrugged on his coat.

"Hey," she stopped him with a hand on the arm he was reaching down for his duffle bag, and stepped in for a hug. "Take care of yourself."

Eliot returned the hug.

"You too," he said. Then, whispering directly into her ear, "I hope it's a girl."

Sophie squeezed him a little tighter for a second, then let go and stepped back. Eliot picked up his bag, and she sent him out the door with a smile.

* * *

Nate followed Eliot out to the cab. He didn't say anything until Eliot had loaded his bag into the trunk and closed its lid. He watched in amusement as Eliot checked his pockets for his wallet, cell phone, and boarding pass – a reflexive habit for anyone who spent any significant amount of time around Parker.

"Got everything?" Nate asked.

"Think so," Eliot said.

Nate nodded. He was thinking about Sophie's interpretation of their final exchange two years' ago in the offices behind the Brewpub.

"Call if you need anything," he said.

The disbelieving look on Eliot's face spoke volumes. Nate wasn't sure whether to laugh or sigh.

"I know," he said, holding up his hands in disclaimer. "But if you do need something at some point, call."

Eliot snorted, then gave Nate a quick backslapping hug.

"Thanks, Nate," he said, opening the cab door.

He was halfway in when Nate had a sudden thought.

"What should we tell Hardison and Parker?" he asked.

Eliot frowned at him as if it should be obvious.

"Tell 'em I'll see 'em in Portland," he said.

"Okay," Nate said. He stepped further back from the curb as Eliot closed the door, and watched as the cab pulled away. It was only after it disappeared around the corner that he made his way back up path to the house.

The front hall was empty when Nate opened the door. He hung up his coat and went in search of Sophie. He found her back at the breakfast bar, a little teary eyed, but composed. He wrapped his arms around her anyway, as much for his own comfort as hers.

"So," he said. "Breakfast?"

Sophie smiled, wondering if normal people's lives went from major upheaval to mundane this fast.

"Breakfast," she agreed. "What should we make?"

"French toast," Parker said, popping up behind them. "I'll tell Eliot we need him."

"I can make French toast, Parker," Nate said, already pulling a frying pan out of a cabinet.

"Not like Eliot's," her voice drifted back to them.

"True," Nate muttered.

"Hey," Parker was back. "Where's Eliot? All his stuff is gone."

"Gone?" Hardison asked, coming down the stairs. "Where'd he go?"

"Eliot went back to Portland," Sophie told them.

"Did he say why?" Hardison asked, already pulling out his phone.

"Just that he had some things he wanted to do there," Sophie said.

"He said he'd see you back there," Nate added.

Parker was quiet, sliding onto the seat beside Sophie's and pulling a tissue from the box, which she proceeded to shred thoughtfully. Hardison was listening to Eliot's phone ring.

"Hey," he said when it was picked up. "Nate and Sophie said you're headed back to Portland already. What's up with that?"

There was a pause as Hardison listened. Most of the rest of his side of the short conversation consisted of "uh huhs."

"Okay," he said, winding it up. "We'll let you know when we're headed your way. Take care, man."

Hardison hung up.

"What did he say?" Parker asked.

"Nothing much," Hardison shrugged. "Just that he wanted to get back before his tomato plants all died or Michael started messing with the Brewpub menu."

"Okay," Parker said. If there were no emergencies, then maybe putting a little space between the previous night's intense conversation and her next meeting with Eliot wasn't a bad idea. She turned her attention to what Nate was doing with a bowl of eggs on the other side of the kitchen, watching suspiciously. "Are you sure you know how to make French toast, Nate?"


	18. Chapter 18

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: And now, moving on, we start to see what happens when I try to write a 1000 word wrap-up so that the story actually has resolution...The answer to that question would be that it turns into 9 additional chapters, ranging from ~700 words to 5000 words each... I hope keep enjoying it!  
_

In the end, Hardison proved the most stubborn about accepting any change in the team dynamic. As many time as Eliot refused an invitation to come over and watch a game, or just stick around for a beer, Hardison came up with another one – or something that needed to be done for the Brewpub that absolutely, definitely required both of them. On the job, Brewpub or Leverage related, he kept the camaraderie going so seamlessly that Eliot had to constantly guard against relaxing back into old habits. He would have thought that Hardison was just naive if it weren't look of triumph underlying that of pleased surprise he caught on Hardison's face the few times he slipped.

And so, perhaps it was inevitable that when that day eventually came, it all went down right in front of Hardison. He had once again oversold a part in a con, and by the time Eliot could get him out, the men who had him knew too much – had seen too much – and were taking steps to use that knowledge in ways that would not only end their three lives, but would cripple everything Leverage International was slowly building.

They couldn't afford that.

The knife at Hardison's throat was gone in the blink of an eye; the man who had been holding it, lying on the floor with his neck broken. Eliot vaulted over the table as the second man drew his gun, and that fight ended just as fast – and just the same. Hardison was gasping like fish pulled suddenly out of water, soundless words shaping his lips only to skitter away in silence, eyes wide and staring at the man before him.

"Let's go," Eliot growled. He reached for Hardison's arm to propel him towards the door, but pulled his hand back when Hardison flinched away.

"Now, Hardison," he insisted, hoping the younger man would be able to keep it together to follow his verbal commands long enough to get them out of the building. "Parker's waiting."

Hardison nodded and started moving. He stumbled a few times, dazed, but Eliot let him push himself back upright against a wall each time rather than risk precipitating a full blown panic by touching him.

They made it outside before that happened. It wasn't until Parker pulled up in their rental car, throwing the doors open and yelling at them to get in, that Hardison succumbed. Eliot saw it happening in the sudden tension across the man's shoulders as he started to get into the car. As Hardison swivelled his head to look at Eliot, Eliot couldn't tell if the panic was caused more by what he had witnessed or the thought of getting into an enclosed space with a killer sitting right behind him.

"You... you - " Hardison started.

Eliot sighed. Either way, they didn't have to for this now. He grabbed Hardison's left bicep to pull him a little further way from the car, then delivered a neat left uppercut to the man's chin, caught him as his knees crumpled and he lost consciousness, and bundled him into the front seat next to Parker. Sliding into the back seat and pulling the door closed, he told Parker to drive.

"What happened?" she asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

Eliot just shook his head, twisting to watch out the rear window for any signs they were being followed.

"Oh," Parker said.

A few blocks on, Eliot asked her to pull over and let him out.

"Hardison should be waking up soon," he told her. "You two go to the airport and find flights back to Portland."

"What are you going to do?" Parker asked, not sure she really wanted an answer.

"Clean-up," Eliot said grimly. "I'll follow as soon as it's done...Hardison's gonna want to talk about this."

Parker nodded, and Eliot opened the door.

"Eliot?" she said, hesitantly, stopping him.

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in a question.

Parker swallowed, then shook her head. She couldn't think of any words for what she wanted to say.

"Nothing," she said. "We'll see you at home."

Eliot nodded, then slipped out of the car and into the crowd at the crosswalk.

* * *

Four days – including forty-eight hours of travelling the most indirect route back to Portland – Eliot pulled into his driveway, wanting nothing more than a shower, a beer, and his bed, in that order. He wasn't expecting to find Hardison waiting for him in the kitchen. Eliot dropped his bag in the hallway leading to the bedroom, and headed for the fridge; the beer might have to come before the shower. He pulled out two beers, sliding one across to Hardison.

"Hey," he said, a belated greeting.

Hardison nodded, eyes skating across Eliot's face and away again.

"We going to talk about this now?" Eliot asked.

Hardison shrugged.

"Doesn't seem like we have anything to gain by waiting," he said.

_Except sleep and a shower_, Eliot thought, but didn't say.

"Okay," he said. "We need to wait for Parker?"

"No."

Hardison fiddled with the beer bottle in front of him, but didn't open it. Eliot popped the top off his own and settled himself against the kitchen counter while he waited for Hardison to figure out what he wanted to say. Eventually, though, he couldn't wait any longer.

"Just spit it out, Hardison," he advised. "Before I fall asleep."

Hardison looked up then, finally meeting Eliot's eyes. Everything Eliot had expected to see was written on his face – hurt, betrayal, anger, revulsion – everything except guilt. Well, however unsuccessful most of his efforts with Hardison had been, it was good to know he'd managed to introduce enough distance that it hadn't occurred to Hardison to take on the weight of Eliot's acts – even if they had been precipitated by Hardison's own misjudgement. For the rest, well the bridge of this friendship had been well and truly burnt now. What remained to be seen was whether they could salvage a working relationship from the wreckage.

"Those men..." Hardison began. "You couldn't have just knocked them out?"

"If I had, all three of us would be dead by now," Eliot said bluntly.

Hardison winced. But still...

"We're supposed to be the good guys, Eliot," he said, eyes dropping back to his beer bottle. "We don't kill people."

"No, we don't," Eliot agreed, his emphasis pointed. "But as I said when we started this job, there wasn't any margin for error this time. I know those men, their organization. Once they knew who we were, they would have hunted us to the ends of the earth. Could I have got you out of the building without killing them? Yes. Could we have made it to the airport and out of the country alive? Probably. But what good was that if there was someone waiting at the other end of the flight, or someone took you out next week when you're at the grocery store or something, and then went after anyone we've worked with or for, just because they could? No, once they had our names and faces, that choice was gone."

"There's always a choice."

Eliot huffed a frustrated breath.

"Yeah, in principle there's always a choice and killing's never the right one. I know. But when the costs stacked up on the other side of the equation are higher than you can afford, those principles don't do you much good."

Hardison was staring at him intently now.

"You saying you'd do it again?" he asked.

"Only if necessary," Eliot said steadily. He paused, mouth twisting as if against an unpleasant taste. "It's not something I enjoy doing...or that I'm proud of. But sometimes a bad act means you can keep something good. And I know for sure that you and Parker do more good in the world than those two I took down, so, yes, given the same set of circumstances, I would do it again."

Hardison swallowed, dropping his gaze once again to the bottle between his hands. Eliot took a deep breath.

"If that's a problem, I'll leave," he offered, hoping Hardison wouldn't take him up on it. "You'll need a replacement, though. The kind of jobs we've been tackling mean you need a hitter round the clock to keep an eye on things."

Hardison nodded, obviously thinking about it. Eliot waited.

"Let's not rush into anything," Hardison said. "We could just see how it goes."

"Okay," Eliot said.

"I'm sorry the job ended like that," Hardison said quietly.

"Me too," Eliot replied, and while Hardison couldn't deny the sincerity in his tone, he couldn't help feeling that, in this case, sorry didn't really make a difference.


	19. Chapter 19

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.  
_

Sophie knew what must have happened when Eliot disappeared from Hardison's conversations. In the two years that had passed since all five of them had gathered for Christmas, Eliot had cropped up occasionally in Parker's stories about jobs they had done or were considering, but he had been a constant theme anytime Hardison was on the phone or visiting. The younger man had seemed to take it personally that Nate and Sophie had accepted Eliot's withdrawal from their circle and his resentment took the form of forcing his friend's name into the conversation at every opportunity he could create. Sophie had tried to explain that this wasn't helpful, that he wasn't doing Eliot, let alone anyone else, any favours, but the message hadn't penetrated – and as the exhausted mother of a very active toddler, Sophie had other things on her mind most of the time. Besides which, she had to admit that she wasn't all that eager to sever that last illusion of contact with Eliot. Now – after the second phone call in which the absence of any mention of Eliot had drowned out the actual words spoken – she had to admit how much she had been counting on Hardison's persistence to eventually draw Eliot back into the family fold.

But apparently Hardison hadn't been listening all those times Eliot had flat out said that he was a bad guy and had hurt people, or shared his expertise on assassination techniques. Now that he could no longer ignore the reality of what the man was not only capable of but had actually done, he didn't seem able to see past it. He could accept Eliot as a valuable professional resource, but anything more personal had been swept away in the quiet sounds of two necks breaking and two bodies falling to the ground.

Sophie saw the same acknowledgement of what had changed in the resignation on Nate's face as they ended the video call with Hardison and Parker.

"Do you think that they're all right?" she asked him.

"Who?" Nate sometimes seemed to take sadistic delight in being deliberately obtuse. "Hardison and Parker? They're safe, at least. And if Hardison is feeling betrayed because he has just discovered his best friend can be a ruthless killer when the situation demands, he has only himself to blame. Eliot never made any pretence about who or what he was."

"What about Eliot?" Sophie asked.

Nate sighed.

"Eliot is fine – partly because Eliot is always fine, and partly because he knew this was how it would go. Now, I'm willing to bet that in his plan the bodies didn't start piling up until after Hardison had recast him from best friend to security expert, but he's a pragmatic man and perfectly capable of working with what he is given."

"I know," Sophie said. "But just because he won't acknowledge the price attached to that doesn't mean he's not paying it."

"Oh, he acknowledges it," Nate told her. "The problem is that paying it is both what tears him apart and the one thing that allows him to hold the pieces together."

"So there's nothing we can do," Sophie said. It was a conversation they had had before, and it always seemed to lead to this conclusion.

"Nothing but avoid having to ask him to pay more of it on our behalf," Nate affirmed. Then, as a small but demanding voice started calling for them from upstairs, indicating nap time was over, he added, "And, apparently, get our daughter from her crib and take her to visit the ducks in the park."


	20. Chapter 20

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's note: This morning's offering was very short, so have some more now :) A little less talk and a lot more action for the next little while! (well, relatively speaking...)_

It had been five years since Sophie had used that particular number in her contacts list. She scrolled down to it as her husband paced frantically behind her, muttering imprecations and threatening hellfire and damnation.

"We can't handle this by ourselves, Nate," she said, pushing the button to connect the call. "I'm calling Eliot."

From the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Nate halt abruptly and then come to stand next to her. She listened to the phone ring at the other end, the hand not holding the phone stroking the ears of a small stuffed rabbit.

"Yeah," the voice that answered was rough with just-woken-up gravel, but so familiar that the five years since she had last heard it seemed to contract into as many days with that one word.

"Eliot?" And now her voice was shaking, the calm she had maintained in the face of Nate's panic flying out the window, and tears spilling down her face.

"Sophie?" Eliot sounded wide awake now. "What's wrong?"

"They took our daughter," Sophie said.

"Who did, Sophie?" he asked. "When?"

But Sophie was crying in earnest now, unable to answer.

"Sophie?" Eliot called to her. "Sophie, is Nate there? Can you put me on speakerphone, sweetheart?"

Sophie pulled the phone away from her ear and found the button to switch it to speakerphone.

"We're both here, Eliot," she managed, shakily.

"Okay," Eliot said. "Tell me what you know."

Between the two of them, Nate and Sophie told him about the events of the morning. How they had got their daughter out of bed, and dressed, and fed, and into her booster seat in the back of Sophie's car on her way to kindergarten. How the car had been rear-ended at an intersection, and both Sophie and their daughter had been pulled out by masked men; a cloth had been forced over Sophie's mouth and nose, and she lost consciousness. When she came to some minutes later, she was still next her car – a concerned passing jogger bending over her, and no sign of her daughter except the stuffed rabbit she had been talking to in the backseat lying on the floor behind the passenger seat. The woman had wanted to call 911 for paramedics but Sophie had convinced her she just needed to call Nate for a ride home. She hadn't been thinking entirely clearly at the time, but she didn't think getting the police involved was a good idea. Instead, they had gone home and called Eliot.

Eliot quizzed Sophie about anything she could remember from the attack – sounds, smells, technique – and both of them about jobs they might have taken on recently that could have led to someone seeking this kind of revenge, or insurance against their interference. They gave him everything they could, but it wasn't much.

"Okay," Eliot said. "Look, I'm going to get Hardison checking the traffic cams and things to see if he can identify and track the car that hit you, and we'll check out those names you gave me. All three of us are going to head your way; we should be there in a few hours. Did Hardison install the software you'd need to track a ransom call if it comes before we get there?"

"I think so," Nate said.

"I'll tell him to call you and walk you through it again," Eliot said. "When they do call, ask for proof of life but see if you can delay anything else until we get there, okay?"

"Yes," Nate said.

"We'll be there soon," Eliot reiterated. "We'll get her back."

* * *

Eliot called Parker and Hardison as soon as he got off the phone with Nate and Sophie. Hardison got to work immediately, while Parker and Eliot packed and made their travel arrangements to New York. Hardison didn't get much on the vehicle or the men that had attacked Sophie, but the jogger who stopped to help her raised red flags when he ran her photo through facial recognition.

They were already at the airport, boarding a chartered jet to New York.

"Guys," he said. "This isn't about anything Nate and Sophie have been doing. They're just a way of getting to us."

Eliot shot him a murderous glare. Hardison could almost hear the "Dammit, Hardison" and "I told y'all to stop visiting them" that would have been thrown out a couple of years ago.

"What do you mean?" Parker asked.

"The woman who waited with Sophie is Janine Spears. She works as 'fixer' or 'cleaner' for one of the biotech companies involved in that job we were just wrapping up. The story hasn't hit the press yet, so my guess is that the ransom they demand is the evidence we stole that they had both confiscated that research data showing the adverse effect of genetically modified foods on human health, and that they had continued producing and marketing these foods after they were made aware of those safety concerns."

"But that would undo everything we did," Parker objected.

"That's kind of their point, Parker," Eliot growled. "But how did they know to go through Nate and Sophie to get to us?"

"Well, I can't be sure this is the connection," Hardison said, " but one of their VPs worked for VerdAgra back when we exposed the whole wheat blight scam after Parker broke in to help Archie, and worked for Latimer for a while...It's possible they either recognised us or made a guess based on the similarity between the objectives that time and this one...Maybe we've become too predictable."

"Is this our fault?" Parker asked, a little tremulously. "For going to visit Nate and Sophie and calling them all the time and stuff, I mean."

From Hardison's studied silence it was apparent he was wondering something similar. Eliot couldn't afford to have them tying themselves up in knots right now, though.

"I don't know Parker," he said. "Not necessarily. Hardison, did you find anything that might tell us where they're likely to be keeping the kid?"

Hardison shook his head.

"Nothing yet," he said. "I think I've got everything set up so that I'll be able to keep looking once we're in the air, though."

Eliot nodded. He checked his phone once more for any new messages from Nate or Sophie, then leant back in his seat, trying to relax, as the plane taxied out on to the runway. There wasn't anything more he could do right now, and it could be a very long couple of days once they got to New York.

* * *

By the time they landed, Hardison had identified a couple of properties the company or some of its more corrupt senior leaders owned that he thought might be used for these sorts of purposes. Throughout the flight, though, Eliot felt something niggling at the back of his brain about their theory. It just didn't really make sense. Even if they gave back all the files they had stolen, it was surely obvious that they could have copies stashed elsewhere or already passed on to other people. In which case, what had the company really achieved? Was the idea that kidnapping and holding their friends' child hostage should be sufficient demonstration of could be done in retaliation if the Leverage crew interfered any further? Maybe, but it seemed like a long shot. Unless the point was simply to delay the public release of the information? Give the major stockholders and executives a chance to sell out and possibly leave the country before the stock price plummeted and official investigations started? That seemed to make a little more sense...which meant that, if there was anyway to do it without adding to the danger for Nate and Sophie's daughter, Eliot needed to derail the kidnappers' timeline to prevent the main culprits within the biotech company from getting away scot-free and with enormous profits.

When they reached Nate and Sophie's house, there still hadn't been a ransom demand and Eliot started to give a little more credence to his delay theory. An hour of continued silence later, he shared it with Hardison and had him check for any stock market activity that would support it. There was nothing blatant, pointing to long, draw-out delay tactics if Eliot was right, trying to maximise the game for all its key players, but some of the day's stock sales – if traced back through the torturous trails of shell companies and subsidiaries to their actual owners – did seem to have been made by some of the key players in the scam they had uncovered.

Nobody was keen on the idea of leaving a five-year-old girl wherever they were holding her for as long as it would take for that scenario to play out – or of letting the people they had worked so hard to take down get away with everything after all.

"So how do we find her without a ransom call?" Hardison wondered aloud.

"Did any of those buildings you were looking at have security cameras? Maybe we could find footage of her being taken in," Eliot suggested.

Hardison shook his head.

"Two of them have cameras," he said. "But I already checked. Nothing useful."

"What about the kid, herself?" Eliot asked next. "Is she trackable?"

"Only if kids these days come with some kind of GPS locator or built in internet connection," Hardison said. "When are you going to get that what I track are the devices, not the people carrying them?"

Eliot scowled.

"No, wait," Parker spoke up. "That's it. Track her devices."

"Parker," Sophie said, "she's five. She doesn't have 'devices'."

"Yes, she does," Parker insisted. "Remember I went shopping with you for all her 'starting school' stuff? All day, both you and Nate kept commenting on the things on the list the school gave you that you couldn't believe kids needed for kindergarten...one of those things was a tablet computer, remember? Would she have that with her?"

"I don't know," Sophie said slowly. "I put it in her backpack last night...Nate, did we look in the car for her backpack?"

"I'll go and check," Nate said, hurrying out to the garage, obviously grateful to have something that felt useful to do. He was back in less than a minute. "It isn't in the car," he said.

"Do you have the serial number or anything for her tablet?" Hardison asked.

"Yes," Nate was striding towards the den where he had his computer set up. "I have a list for all our phones and computers, I'll email it to you."

They all waited in breathless silence while Nate's computer booted up and he searched for his spreadsheet of information about their electronic devices and associated warrantees and insurance plans. He sent it to Hardison, the row for the relevant device highlighted. Hardison plugged the information into his tracking program, and almost instantly a new blip appeared on the map. In Kansas.

"They took her to Kansas?!" Sophie exclaimed, in disbelief. "Why?"

"Looks like," Eliot said, leaning over Hardison's shoulder. "Hardison, what can you show me on that location?"

Hardison pulled up what he could in terms of satellite and street views, and property records, but it wasn't much.

Eliot grunted, straightening up from his scrutiny of the laptop screen.

"Think you could get me blueprints?" he asked.

"I'll try," Hardison told him.

"Send them to my phone," Eliot told him.

"You going to Kansas?" Hardison asked.

Eliot nodded.

"I'm coming, too," Parker said.

"No," Eliot told her.

"You need me," she argued. "Getting in and out of places is what I do best."

"I know," Eliot said. "But we don't know for sure that anything except the tablet computer is in Kansas. Both of us being in the wrong place if it turns out she's not there would be stupid."

Parker still looked sceptical.

"She doesn't know you," she said. "She'll be scared."

"That's true," Eliot looked over at Nate and Sophie. "Do you guys have a safeword I should use so that she knows she can trust me."

Nate and Sophie exchanged looks.

"Yes," Nate said. "She's supposed to ask you who you are...the correct response is that you're the cavalry."

Eliot scrutinised them for a moment.

"The cavalry, huh?" he asked.

Sophie nodded.

"It was what you told Parker to tell General Flores back in San Lorenzo," she explained. "We liked it."

Eliot nodded, then turned back to Hardison.

"What's the quickest way for me to get to Kansas?" he asked.

"I already got you on the next flight," Hardison told him. "You just need to get to the airport in the next forty minutes."

"Okay," Eliot headed for the hallway, where they had left all their gear, and grabbed his bag. "I'll call you when I get there."

He stopped at the front door, turning back to where the other four stood clustered together. His eyes scanned all of them, but lingered on Sophie.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Stephanie," she told him: the three most precious syllables in her vocabulary for the last five years.

Eliot nodded.

"See you soon," he said, and slipped out the door.


	21. Chapter 21

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Eliot to the rescue!_

It was a tense group of thieves or former thieves waiting out the night in New York. The ransom call finally came at nine o'clock that night...sort of. Nate received a call from someone who refused to identify themselves, saying they had his daughter. As Eliot had instructed him, he demanded proof of life before continuing the conversation. A link with a live videofeed followed shortly, but the only accompanying message was to await further instructions. At least, that was the only intentional message. Hardison was able to trace the videofeed back to confirm the location Eliot was heading for... if these people had done their homework sufficiently to know about the ties between the current Leverage team and Nate and Sophie, they still seemed either woefully uninformed about how information technology worked, or to be underestimating Hardison's skills. He mentioned this to Eliot when the older man checked in after landing, but Eliot didn't know how to interpret it either. And he certainly wasn't going to rule out the possibility of a trap.

"I'm going to drive out there and see what I can see." Eliot said. "Did Parker have any suggestions based on the blueprints you found?"

"Does Parker ever not have suggestions when it comes to breaking into a building?" Hardison asked. "She said that you should call her once you've looked around its outside."

"Okay," Eliot replied. "Hey, Hardison, I'm going to need a birth certificate or something for the kid to get her on a plane once I've got her."

"I bet Nate has a copy," Hardison said. "I'll have it ready to send to you when you've figured out which airport you're flying back from."

"No, I need one that matches my ID," Eliot said. "They're not going to let some random stranger take a kid on a plane just because he's got a copy of the birth certificate."

"Right," Hardison said. "I'll get to work on that. Eliot, you're about to become a daddy."

Eliot growled and hung up.

He hid his rental car about half a mile from the location Hardison had got from the videofeed, keeping in mind that he was probably going to have to get out fast with a tired and cranky five-year-old. There weren't many hours of the night left and he wanted to be well clear by daylight, so his reconnaissance was fast, looking for entry points and trying to get a sense of how many men were in the building. He texted Hardison to get himself and Parker on comms; he needed Parker's insights on the building and Hardison's technology, but didn't want Nate and Sophie in his ear for this one.

The building appeared to be largely storage space, with a few offices located in one corner. From what little was visible in the background of the video, it looked like Stephanie was in a deserted office rather than out in the main warehouse. Smartphone screens were not the greatest devices for looking at blueprints, but Eliot could make out enough detail to pick out the two most likely locations to hold a child.

"Can you get me there, Parker?" he asked, knowing she had both a better view of the blueprints and would have spent the time he was on the plane studying them.

"Uh-huh," she said. "You just need to get into the ventilation shafts."

"Okay," Eliot said. "You do remember that I'm bigger than you, though, right?"

"Of course I remember!" Parker exclaimed. "But why is that important now?"

The sound of teeth being ground was particularly unpleasant over bone conduction comms.

"Am I going to fit, Parker?" Eliot ground out.

"Oh!" Parker said. She looked at the blueprints again, taking in the scale and doing some quick calculations against her estimate of Eliot's shoulder breadth. "You should...You did say you're not claustrophobic anymore, right?"

Some muttering might have followed. But if the ventilation shafts were the way in, they were the way in.

"Okay," he said. "I saw an access point on the south side of the building. I'll go in there and you walk me through it."

The south side was, unfortunately, well lit – and covered by security cameras. On the upside, there didn't seem to be any security patrols, and Hardison could take care of the cameras. So Eliot just needed to channel Parker's ability to seemingly climb anything. It was, at least, an old building, offering finger and toe holds for his three-storey climb. Leaving Parker in New York in case the Kansas location proved a wild goose chase might have been the right approach, but he was regretting it now. Especially as he inched himself into the narrow confines of the ventilation shaft. It was definitely a tight fit.

He followed Parker's directions to the first office he had marked as a likely location. Empty. But outside the second office, there were four men – all armed – engaged in a poker game, and the boots of a fifth man taking his turn napping just visible within the limited field of view Eliot had from the ventilation shaft. He knew there were at least two more men outside. It seemed like overkill for a stall and babysit job. A laptop was set up next to the makeshift poker table, presumably keeping an eye on the kid. Eliot crawled on. He needed to know whether there was anyone inside the room with the girl.

There wasn't. There was, however, still the matter of the camera on her.

"Hardison," he muttered, _sotto voce_, "can you use that link they sent you to access the webcam they have on her? Maybe loop it and buy me little time?"

"One step ahead of you," Hardison replied. "Set and ready when you are."

Eliot craned his head, trying to see a little more of the room. It didn't look like there was anyone there except the child huddled in the corner.

"Let's go," he said.

"Done."

Eliot slowly pushed the grate out from the opening of the ventilation shaft, trying to avoid it either scraping or falling, then lowered himself to the floor, dropping the last couple of feet to land lightly in a crouch. He paused, eyes sweeping the room and ears pricked for sounds of movement outside the door. Nothing. Even the kid in the corner hadn't moved. Eliot could see her breathing, so he figured she was asleep...he needed to wake her up without sparking any ear splitting shrieks when she found a strange man in the room with her.

Up close, he could see dust sticking to the tear tracks on her cheeks, but it didn't look as though she had been hurt or restrained in any way. He reached out, gently shaking her shoulder with one hand while the other covered her mouth, pre-empting any screaming.

Her body jerked beneath his hands and her eyes flew open as she came wide awake in an instant.

"Shhhh," he soothed. "I'm here to help you, but I need you to stay really quiet. Your mom and dad told me you have a question you need to ask me. If I take my hand away from your mouth can you whisper it to me?"

Slowly, she nodded. Eliot withdrew his hands, giving her an encouraging smile. She sat up, but stayed huddled in the corner.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"Well, ma'am," Eliot gave her a wink and his best drawl. "We'd be the cavalry."

She giggled, then clapped her hands over her mouth as Eliot raised a finger to his lips in reminder.

"Mommy and Daddy sent you?" she whispered.

Eliot nodded.

"My name's Eliot," he told her. "You're Stephanie, right?"

She nodded. Then – definitely Sophie's daughter – held out a hand to him.

"It's nice to meet you, Eliot," she said, as Eliot solemnly took the proffered hand in his own.

"It's real nice to meet you, too, Stephanie," he told her. "I'm going to take you home, okay? But I need you to stay really quiet and do exactly what I tell you. Think you can do that?"

Stephanie nodded, and Eliot gave her another smile.

"Good. Now, do you hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head.

"That's good. I'm just going to talk to your Uncle Alec and Aunt Parker on the radio for a moment to figure out the best way for us to get out. Can you wait quietly for a minute?"

This time Stephanie's face clouded.

"What's wrong?" Eliot asked.

"I lost Parker," she whispered.

Eliot thought about that for a moment. An image of Sophie fondling a toy rabbit's ears earlier that day popped into his head.

"Is Parker your bunny?" he asked.

Stephanie nodded, eyes filling and tears spilling over to mark fresh tracks thought the dust on her face.

"Well, then I've got good news," Eliot reassured her. "Parker's with your mom, safe and sound at your house, and waiting for you."

Big, teary eyes searched his face, and apparently decided this was the truth. She gave him a smile and a nod, and wiped the tears away with her sleeve.

Eliot stood and moved away a step or two.

"Guys, you get all that?" he asked Hardison and Parker. And probably Nate and Sophie. He was pretty sure they would have talked Hardison into giving them comms by now, and Hardison just had them muted.

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Okay, so we can probably sneak out the way I came in, but something about all this doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?" Parker asked.

"Well, it makes sense insofar as there's the VP who has history with Latimer and VerdAgra who could have figured out that we were behind the stuff with the biotech company and that using Nate and Sophie's daughter was a good way to prevent or delay our releasing the proof we got ... but when they contacted Nate, the kidnappers didn't ask for that. On top of that, they sent a videofeed link that they must have known Hardison could trace, and they have way more guys here packing more heat than you'd need for an army of kindergartners," Eliot explained.

"You thinking it's a trap?" Hardison asked.

"Maybe," Eliot said. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Hardison said slowly, the sound of rapid typing behind his words suggesting they were just to fill time while he looked for more information. "All I see on the cameras are a bunch of guys playing poker."

Well, that matched what Eliot had seen through the air vents.

"What about the outside cameras?" he asked.

"Nah, man. Nothing," Hardison told him.

Eliot chewed on that. He heard what Hardison was telling him, but his instincts were screaming that they were missing something.

"And you're sure you're looking at the right cameras?" he asked.

"There's not that many to choose from," Hardison told him. "And, anyway, I'm looking at all of them."

"No," Eliot stopped him, wishing that there was less of a language barrier between himself and Hardison sometimes. "I mean, are you sure you're looking at the cameras now?... That they haven't used any loops or whatever like you just did with the laptop they're using to watch Stephanie?"

Silence for a moment, then, once again, the rapid tapping of computer keys.

"Ummm...that's...yeah, hang on, I'm checking," Hardison said. "Okay, nothing weird going on with the laptop camera I'm looking at the guys playing poker through, but a couple of the outside security cameras are looped. I'll have them back to real-time in a second."

"No, wait," Eliot said urgently. "If you do that, will anyone watching at this end see the change?"

"Yeah, they will. You want me to hold off?"

"Yeah," Eliot agreed, running through options in his head. He was going to need to know what was waiting outside to form a real plan, but there a few things he could do first to minimise the amount of warning they had of his arrival. "Can you send the camera feeds for the outside cameras through to my phone?"

"Done," Hardison told him.

Eliot pulled his phone out and opened the link Hardison had sent. The images were grainy, but good enough for what he needed.

"Eliot? You got a plan?" Hardison asked.

"Kind of," Eliot grunted.

He went back over to Stephanie.

"Sweetheart, you ever play hide-and-go-seek?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good," Eliot said. "I bet you're really good at it, too."

"Not as good as Aunt Parker," she told him.

Eliot chuckled.

"I don't think anyone's as good at it as Aunt Parker," he told her, smiling again as Parker agreed over the comms. "And right now, I need you to pretend you are Aunt Parker and we're going to hide you just like her."

"Eliot, what are you doing?" Hardison asked.

"Just buying a little insurance," Eliot told him.

Eliot pulled a cloth out of his bag and tied it over Stephanie's mouth and nose.

"This is just to keep the dust out so that you don't have to cough or sneeze, okay?"

She nodded.

"Okay, now you see that vent up there in the ceiling? I'm going to boost you up there and you're going to stay really still and quiet for a little while until I come back for you," he explained.

The little girl's eyes widened in fear as she looked from him to the hole in the ceiling and back again. Her hand tightened convulsively on his sleeve.

"You won't be alone," he reassured her. "I'm going to give you a radio that goes in your ear and Aunt Parker and Uncle Alec will keep you company."

Her grip relaxed a little.

"You ready?" he asked her.

Stephanie nodded.

Eliot lifted her up and helped her crawl into the air vent.

"Hardison?"Eliot called.

"I'm here," the hacker answered.

"I'm giving Stephanie my comm. so you and Parker can talk to her for a few minutes," Eliot explained. "I need you to keep her calm and quiet, okay?"

"Calm and quiet, sure," Hardison repeated.

"Good," Eliot said. "Give me five minutes and then do the thing with the cameras...and if I'm not back on comms in ten, send the police and everyone else you can think of out here."

"Got it," Hardison said.

Eliot pulled his earbud out and passed it up to Stephanie, showing her how to put it in her ear.

"Can you hear Uncle Alec and Aunt Parker?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Okay, then what I need you to do is shuffle back a little from this hole and then just lie still and listen to them. You can talk, but do it very quietly, okay?"

She nodded again and started to do as he had told her.

"Good girl," he smiled. "I should be back in a few minutes. If I'm not, then you stay where you are until Aunt Parker tells you it's okay to make some noise or move. Do you understand?"

In the shadows of the vent Eliot could just make out another head bob.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

Silently, he slid the grille back over the vent opening and clipped it in to place, then went to the door leading through to the outer warehouse and listened carefully. It sounded like the card game was still under way. A chair scraped on the concrete floor as someone got up to get a drink. Eliot waited for the follow-up sound of them settling into the chair again, then slid through the door. Five men, all armed and apparently expecting him, if not right then, at some point. Granted, the fifth man had to shake off the remnants of his nap to join the fray, but some of them had enough training for Eliot to have his hands very full for the next few minutes, taking both the men and the weapons out of play, and two of them got a decent number of their own hits in. By the time he had them all down and immobilised, Hardison's link was showing new pictures of the world outside.

Someone had obviously been monitoring the cameras for signs of Hardison's incursion because the previously empty surroundings now featured an armed guard on each wall. So much for sneaking out the way he had come in: he and Stephanie would be sitting ducks against that brightly lit wall. Eliot had some more work to do.

He sent Hardison a quick text to add five minutes to his "call the police" deadline, then set off on a circuit of the building. Not knowing how the men were communicating or what their check in schedule might be, he had to take them down fast and silently. Zip-ties, as he knew form experience, could be escaped with a little bit of force if you knew the trick, but they were quick to apply and reasonably effective if used to secure the arms behind rather than in front of the body. Four unconscious men, wrists and ankles thus bound were soon occupying the nearest convenient shadowy corners, strips of duct tape covering their mouths as an extra precaution against shouted warnings. With no sign of anyone else around, Eliot slipped back inside the warehouse to retrieve Stephanie – but did stop to snag a dark jacket from the back of a chair to cover her lighter coloured clothing for the short trek back to the rental car.

"Stephanie?" he called quietly, as he reached up to remove the air vent cover. "It's Eliot. Are you ready to come out of there?"

A dark-haired head popped into view, a little more dust streaked, but otherwise okay.

"Hi," she said, a little muffled by the cloth still covering her mouth and nose.

"Hi," Eliot replied, lifting her down and removing the cloth. "Do you think I could have my radio back before someone sends the police out here to rescue us?"

Stephanie nodded

"Bye, Uncle Alec. Bye, Aunt Parker," she said, then pulled the earbud out and handed it to Eliot.

"Thanks," he said, putting it back in his own ear. "I'm back, guys. You see anything I should know about before we clear out of here?"

"Nope," "Nothing," the two voices in his ear responded.

Eliot helped Stephanie pull on the too-large jacket, zipping it up to cover her own clothes and then rolling the sleeves up so that her fingers poked out.

"Let's get you back to your Mom and Dad," he told her.


	22. Chapter 22

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: And the rest of the rescue...I forgot when I posted this morning that I had split this section in two!_

Despite Hardison and Parker's assurances of the continued lack of activity around the warehouse, Eliot wasn't willing to take chances. He picked Stephanie up, tucking her in securely under his chin, wanting to get back to the rental car as fast and silently as possible, and stuck to the darkest route he could find.

They were almost back to the car when it headlights suddenly flicked on, pinning them in the beam. Eliot immediately ducked out of the light – only to be caught by a second set of beams.

"Mr. Spencer," the man emerging from the driver's seat of Eliot's rental car greeted him. "So good of you to join us."

Eliot looked from him to the gun in his hand, to the second armed man emerging from the second car.

"Stephanie, I need you to get down, and stay behind me, okay?" he whispered in her ear, lowering her to the ground.

He straightened, looking again at the man who had spoken.

"I had hoped Mr. Hardison and Ms. Parker would have joined you," the man went on.

"What do you want?" Eliot growled.

"What do I want?" the man echoed. "Nothing more than the opportunity to pursue a few business ventures without any interference from you and your colleagues such as CTN Biotech recently encountered. My friend there has run across your little team before. It seems you make rather a habit of that kind of thing."

"I see," Eliot said. "So what's your plan?"

"Well, my original plan was to get all three of you here, which had the added advantage of saving my friend and his business partners substantial amounts of money while ensuring my continued opportunities to earn more of my own. But it seems some adaption will be called for. Never mind. I am sure they will show up for at least one of the funerals."

The demands in Eliot's ear for updates on what was going on suddenly ceased. Ironically, the silence was what reminded him that he might need to cut off that particular communication stream if things went the way he suspected they were about to.

"What makes you think they would make a rookie mistake like that?" Eliot asked.

The man laughed.

"Oh, come now," he said. "You must know that it's obvious from a mile away that sentimentality is their weakness."

Eliot grimaced. He hoped Parker and Hardison had heard the threat and would take it to heart where they had ignored his warnings.

"And, even if they don't," the man continued with a shrug, "I know where to find them. The added expense will still be miniscule compared to the profits I intend to make in the next few years. Now. Let's see your hands interlaced behind your head."

Eliot complied, if only because it gave him the opportunity to slide his earbud out and drop it to the ground where he could crush it beneath the heel of his boot with the next casual shifting of his weight. He glanced down at Stephanie, pressed up against his leg. He could feel her whole body trembling. The two men aiming guns at them were separated just far enough that he couldn't quite block her from both their weapons simultaneously. This was going to have to be fast, and with no margin for error or hesitation.

"Close your eyes, sweetie," he muttered to her. "When I tell you to open them again, this is all going to be over, all right?"

The next few seconds were a blur of action. The man aiming his gun at Stephanie went down with one of Eliot's throwing knives straight through his left eye. The gun went off as he fell, but Eliot didn't have time just then to check on where the bullet went. He was already racing for the man facing him, twisting the gun out his grasp then wrapping an arm around his neck in one continuous move. A jerk, a snap, and there was deadweight hanging from Eliot's arm. Literally. He lowered the body to the ground. Regrets could wait. Eliot had two dead bodies and a five-year-old girl to deal with right now. He checked on Stephanie first. She was curled up on the ground, hands still clenched over her eyes, but he didn't see any blood and she shook her head when he asked if she hurt anywhere. She didn't want to let go of him, but he managed to get her into the car where she agree to wait for him again.

That left the two bodies. Eliot removed and cleaned his knife. No point either wasting a good knife or leaving anything that increased the chances of him being linked with this little incident. None of the men in the warehouse had seen his face, and he knew Hardison would have wiped out any security video he or Stephanie appeared on, so he hadn't worried about simply leaving them all tied up and unconscious. Dead bodies, however, would mean a more intense investigation. He had a car with a tank full of gasoline, and a lighter. It wasn't an elegant clean-up, but what he needed right now was a quick fix. And he could rig a fuse long enough to give him time to get far enough away that even a quick response from the fire and police departments shouldn't trap them. With this plan formed, he got to work.

* * *

When the car's gas tank finally exploded, Eliot and Stephanie were far enough away to hear little more than a distant 'boom'. Eliot kept driving, keeping just under the speed limit. If he got pulled over now, he would have to find an explanation not only for their dusty and battered state, but for why Stephanie was curled up under his right arm rather than strapped into the required child booster seat that wasn't in his back seat.

He drove for another hour before calling Hardison. Hardison picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, man, what happened? You dropped off comms!" he exclaimed before Eliot could say anything.

"Yeah, we hit a little snag leaving. My earbud got smashed in the scuffle," Eliot hedged.

"You both okay?"

Eliot glanced down at Stephanie. She had fallen asleep, but still had a fistful of his pant leg grasped in her hand.

"We're fine," he said.

"Nate and Sophie would really like to talk to Stephanie," Hardison suggested.

Eliot hesitated.

"She's sleeping right now," he said. "Do they want me to wake her up?"

There was a delay during which Eliot could hear a debate raging in the background.

"Eliot?" Hardison eventually came back. "They said no, but please call as soon as she's awake."

"Okay."

"So, where are you headed?" Hardison asked.

"That's why I called," Eliot said. "I need a place where we can clean up a bit, an airport with a Hertz car rental so I can turn this car back in, and a flight back."

"Details will be on their way to your phone in minutes."

"Thanks."

"You need anything else?"

Well, that was a loaded question. Regrets later, Eliot reminded himself.

"Eliot?" Hardison asked when he didn't reply.

"Nope, that's it," Eliot said hurriedly. "See y'all later."

He hung up.

A few moments later his phone beeped as Hardison sent directions, hotel reservations, and flight confirmations. Eliot saw that Hardison had made two sets of plane reservations – one for the alias that had rented the car, the other for a second alias he had brought, now apparently the legal guardian for his niece Stephanie. But Hardison hadn't stopped there: another couple of minutes and the car's GPS navigation system flickered to life, programmed with the route to the hotel. Eliot settled back into his seat for the remainder of the drive, making a mental note to thank Hardison later.

Forty-five minutes later, he made the final turn into the parking lot of a La Quinta, thankfully one of those that allowed parking directly outside the rooms. The paperwork Hardison sent showed a check in date of the previous day: if Eliot could pick the lock, he would be able to avoid the front desk – and the questions his dishevelled state would invite – entirely.

He tried to wake Stephanie to get her out of the car and into the room. She roused just enough to wrap her arms around his neck as he picked her up, but seemed to be asleep again by the time he got the trunk open and his duffle bag out. Eliot sighed. He wondered if Parker could pick a lock with a five-year old draped round her neck. The question was moot anyway: the door lock was electronic. Eliot was about to head to the front office, already composing a story about having lost his key, when he had a thought. Yup, the door was unlocked. Eliot decided he didn't want to know how Hardison had done that. He stepped inside and locked the deadbolt. The crisply made beds that confronted him were very inviting to a man well past fifty hours without sleep and heading for sixty. But he only had a little over an hour to get himself and Stephanie looking respectable and to the airport.

He flipped the covers on one of the beds back and tried to lie Stephanie down on it. She could sleep a little longer while he showered. But Stephanie had a grip like a limpet. Eliot sat down on the bed, arranging her more comfortably on his lap. Maybe it was time to wake her up and call Sophie and Nate.

"Stephanie?" he shook her shoulder gently. "I need you to wake up for a little bit. We need to clean up and change clothes. Then we'll go get something to eat."

She stirred, but didn't wake properly.

"And we need to call your Mommy and Daddy," he offered. This got a head lift and blinking eyes.

"Mommy?" she asked.

Eliot nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Should we do that first?"

He got an emphatic head nod in reply, so he pulled out his phone, this time dialling Sophie's number. Once again, it was answered on the first ring.

"Eliot?" Sophie asked.

"Hi Sophie," Eliot greeted her. "I've got someone here who wants to talk to you and Nate, so I'm going to put you on speakerphone, okay?"

He barely got the phone switched before Nate and Sophie's voices filled the air. Stephanie leaned in towards the phone, and after a few moments let go of Eliot's neck to take it in her hands.

"Say something," Eliot prompted her quietly. "They want to hear you, too."

She looked at him, and at the phone, but couldn't seem to find any words. Sophie and Nate were starting to sound anxious at her continued non-responses.

"Just keep talking, guys," Eliot said. "She's working on it."

Both Nate and Sophie were silent for a moment, then Sophie's voice started up again, all panic and tension erased. Eliot watched as the soothing tones took effect. After a few false starts Stephanie managed to get a sentence out.

"I want to come home, Mommy," she whispered.

'I know you do, sweetheart," Sophie responded, with barely any pause. "And Eliot's the best at getting people home, so just keep doing what he tells you to and we'll see you in no time."

Nate chimed in then with a story about what Stephanie's bunny had been up to while she was gone. When Stephanie giggled in response, Eliot decided it was time to move things along.

"You know, speaking of things we need to do," he said, "we're both pretty dirty. Would you three mind if I took a shower while you keep talking?"

It took the three adults another couple of minutes to talk Stephanie into letting Eliot out of her sight for a while, but with promises of being very quick and of keeping the door half open she eventually agreed – especially once Nate pointed out that if Eliot didn't get clean he would make Stephanie dirty again after she changed clothes.

Eliot was both fast and thorough. He couldn't do anything about the bruises that were starting to discolour parts of his face, but after a shower and a change of clothes he could pass as a respectable man who had maybe been in a car wreck or mugging recently. He finished up, and then used some of the remaining shampoo to run a bubble bath for Stephanie. He turned the volume up on the speakerphone and placed it next to the sink so that Nate and Sophie could keep talking to her while he got her bathed and dressed in the clean clothes Sophie had packed, making the process run much more smoothly. Stephanie's only concern was about Eliot fixing her hair. Daddy couldn't make a pony tail, let alone any kind of braid, so how could Eliot know anything about doing hair? Eliot let Sophie field that one – telling Stephanie about how long his hair had been when they worked together, and about the Indian braids he sometimes wore in it – while he simply got to work, combing out the tangles and working her hair into a braid that seemed most practical for a plane ride.

"What do you think?" he asked her when he was done, turning her towards the full length mirror on the back of the door.

Stephanie looked at her hair critically, and acknowledged that he had done a good job.

"Good," Eliot said, looking at his watch. "Because I think it's about time we headed to the airport to catch that plane home."


	23. Chapter 23

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Sorry about missing this morning's update - darn early morning meetings for interfering with the posting schedule! Anyway, I found a couple of new ways to torture Eliot in this one...I have no more knowledge of travelling with slightly traumatised small children than of all the other things I stuck in this story, so please continue to suspend your disbelief, and enjoy! :)_

They stopped off at the front office to use the business centre to print out the paperwork Eliot would need to get Stephanie on the plane. The staff were just laying out the continental breakfast as he finished up. Without her parents' voices on the phone, Stephanie had gone back to a limpet-like attachment, arms and legs twined tight around his neck and waist, and not answering questions. He snagged a couple of bananas, a chocolate chip muffin and some milk, figuring she would eat one of them if she was hungry enough.

It was a short trip to the airport. Eliot ate one of the bananas on the way, and coaxed Stephanie into drinking the milk. He dropped the car off at the rental return, printed out their boarding passes, and got them through security. Fortunately, the lines weren't long this early in the morning...slightly traumatised children and airport security turned out to be a very inefficient combination. Eliot hoped nothing had been left behind that would send the authorities on their trail, because the TSA screeners were definitely going to remember them. They made it to the gate with a good thirty minutes to spare. Stephanie was still sobbing into Eliot's neck, the aftermath of their security screening adventure. He thought about calling Sophie and Nate again, but there were too many people around for him to be willing to risk what Stephanie might say once she got talking. He waited it out instead, just staying relaxed and rubbing her back, and was rewarded after a while by a whispered inquiry as to whether he still had the chocolate chip muffin. It was a little squashed from being in Eliot's pocket, but Stephanie didn't seem to mind. And if both their shirts had acquired some smears of chocolate before she was done, at least those would raise fewer eyebrows than blood stains. Stephanie folded up the plastic wrapping when she was done, and looked around for somewhere to put it. Eliot intercepted it when she seemed to decide that back in his pocket was the best place. There were restrooms located just opposite the adjacent gate. Eliot gathered up Stephanie and their bags.

"Let's go wash the chocolate off, huh?" he suggested.

Some water and paper towels took care of most of the stickiness. When they came back out, their flight had started boarding. Eliot settled Stephanie on his hip and joined the economy class line. As nice as a first class flight would have been, a single parent travelling with a kid would attract a lot less attention in coach.

"Mommy said you cook," Stephanie said suddenly, out of the blue, as they inched forward.

Eliot looked at her in surprise. Neither Nate nor Sophie had given him any indication that Stephanie had ever heard his name.

"She did, huh? What else did she say?"

"That your lamb chops are the best."

Eliot smiled.

"But Aunt Parker says that's your chilli."

"What about your daddy?" Eliot asked. He had used all four teammates as taste testers over the years, but he'd never asked for anything but their opinion on the particular dish in front of them.

"Sch – schni..." Stephanie tried.

"Schnitzel?" Eliot asked, handing over their boarding passes.

Stephanie nodded.

"Does Uncle Alec have a favourite?" Eliot encouraged her to keep talking.

Stephanie giggled.

"Gummi frogs," she said emphatically.

Yup, that was Hardison all right. Nothing Eliot could ever produce in the kitchen would rival gummi frogs in Hardison's opinion.

"And you?"

They were at their seats. The conversation had Stephanie distracted enough that she let him put her down long enough to load his bag into the overhead compartment. He kept Stephanie's backpack out. While he had removed the battery from the tablet they had originally used to locate Stephanie –worried that someone else might have the same idea – he might need the books and crayons in there to keep her entertained.

"Grilled cheese," Stephanie told him. "And Daddy's eggs. He learnt how to make them in prison."

Heads were definitely turning their way. Eliot sent a couple of glares towards the more persistent starers.

He sat down and Stephanie immediately squirreled back into his lap. People were still boarding, so he left her there for now.

"I've had those eggs," Eliot told her. "They are pretty good."

He waited for Stephanie to say something else, but she just yawned and snuggled down like she was going back to sleep.

"Sir?" one of the flight attendants was bending over them. "I'm going to need you to get your daughter strapped into her seat."

Eliot nodded and started shifting Stephanie into the window seat.

"It's just while we take off," he told her when she started to protest. She was obviously familiar with the take off routine because after a moment she let Eliot finish buckling her into the seat. He left the armrest between their seats lifted, and she commandeered his closest arm as soon as he finished fastening his own seatbelt, but then slid back into sleep.

* * *

Stephanie slept through the safety announcements and the plane taxiing out to the runway. The roar of the engines and the sudden pressure as the plane began its final sprint for takeoff hurled her back to consciousness, however, and in the disorientation of the sudden waking and _not-Mommy-or-Daddy_ next to her, and whatever memories she might have of the trip to Kansas the day before, Eliot saw her start to panic. Her whole body went rigid and he was pretty sure that if she'd been able to get her breathing under control enough to scream, ear drums for several rows backward and forward would have been pierced by now. He tried to calm her with words, but she was in a blind panic, not seeing or hearing him, and starting to flail. Screw the regulations. He reached over, released her seatbelt buckle, and dragged her into his lap, trapping her arms and legs within his grasp and clasping her head into the crook of his neck where it had repeatedly settled over the last several hours. He murmured instructions to breathe with him into her ear, ignoring the irate instructions coming from the flight attendant strapped into the jumpseat a few rows ahead of him to strap her back into the seat, and blocking out as much of the outside world for her as he could. When the plane reached the point in its ascent where the captain released the flight attendants from their seats, two immediately descended on him, apparently thinking that proximity would lend more force to their demands. Stephanie cringed as the angry voices intruded on the bubble he was trying to create for her.

"Look," Eliot said, keeping his own voice deliberately calm, "I don't want to get into the details, but she's a little girl having a really bad week and she's terrified right now. I know the rules say she needs to be strapped into a seat and that those rules are there for our safety. If I'd known she was going to react like this, I wouldn't have brought her on the plane. But we're here now. If anything happens, I promise I'll take full responsibility."

The flight attendants exchanged doubtful looks. A third, wanting to know why they hadn't started taking drinks orders, approached to find out what was going on. One of the first two left to start on the drinks, while the other gave a quick synopsis of the situation. The woman listened, eyes assessingly on Eliot and Stephanie throughout. She was older and obviously more experienced, and, presumably, of senior rank. She considered the matter silently for a moment when the recitation ended. Eliot wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Okay," she said at last. "What's done is done. Jeanie, why don't we switch sections? I'll keep an eye on things here."

The younger woman wasn't entirely happy with this outcome – her pride obviously would have preferred to have her instructions enforced – but did look relieved that it wasn't her problem anymore. She left to get on with her reassigned duties.

"Thank you," Eliot said to the woman who remained.

She nodded.

"We will need to get her strapped in for landing," she told him.

"I think I can do that," he said. "If you can give me twenty or so minutes warning, I'll make sure she's awake and expecting it this time."

"Okay," she agreed. "Is there anything else that would help?"

Eliot gave a wry smile.

"Maybe a towel or two if you have them?" he was very aware of the uncomfortable warm dampness of his jeans where Stephanie was sitting. She was at least wearing a skirt, but he couldn't imagine she was a whole lot more comfortable. He wasn't about to try to manhandle either of them into clean clothes right then, however.

"I'm sure I can find something," she assured him, heading back towards the galley. She was back in a couple of minutes with what looked like a couple of dish cloths and a package of the moist towellettes they distributed to first class passengers on longer flights.

"I'm afraid this is the best I can do," she said.

Eliot took the offerings, putting them on the seat beside him for the moment.

"This is great," he said. "Thank you."

It looked for a moment like she was about to pat Stephanie's back.

"I wouldn't," Eliot warned. "No telling what might happen."

She nodded.

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do."

Eliot gave her another smile in thanks, and she moved off.

* * *

For the next few hours, Eliot ignored things. He ignored the continued discomfort of damp jeans and a five-year-old pressed tight up against his skin. He ignored the ammonia-tinged smell of drying urine that persisted despite his best attempts with the towels and towellettes – and the dirty looks and pointed comments that smell brought from his fellow passengers. He ignored the gnawing sensation in his stomach that reminded him that he had eaten little more than a banana in the last twenty-four hours, and the gritty heaviness of his eyelids demanding sleep. Most diligently, he ignored his mind's attempts to replay the final events of the previous night, looking for alternatives he missed at the time. And maybe it was concentrating on ignoring all these things rather than a failure in any of his attempts, but Eliot was startled when the helpful flight attendant approached to let him know they would be starting preparations to land in a little under half an hour. He shook off the surprise, rubbing at his eyes, and thanked her yet again.

He set about waking Stephanie up slowly, trying to avoid a repeat performance of her previous awakening. It took a little time, and once she was awake enough to be aware of her surroundings, she was embarrassed and upset about having lost control of her bladder, and there were more tears to dry. This time, Eliot didn't let her go back to sleep, however. He distracted her with the reminder that they were almost home, where everyone would be waiting to spoil her...everyone including Aunt Parker and Uncle Alec. He threw out wild ideas of things they might do to welcome her home, prompting her to agree or disagree that they were likely and/or would be fun. And, as she seemed more inclined to stay awake, he reminded her about needing to be strapped into her own seat for landing. By the time the flight attendants started their final walk through, checking that everyone was strapped in, and that seats and tray tables were in the upright positions, Eliot had persuaded Stephanie into the seat beside his and was focused on just keeping her awake for the final minutes of the flight. Her face was still pressed into his nearest arm, but she was responding to his quiet questions with nods and shakes of her head, and murmuring corrections to "mistakes" he made in the stories and speculations he was weaving, so he knew she was awake. As they landed, he told a revised version of the time Uncle Alec landed a plane using a video game.

"You can do that?" she asked.

Eliot chuckled.

"Well, no," he said. "But Uncle Alec's really smart like that. He used what he learnt in the video game to figure out what needed to happen in the real world."

A puzzled frown emerged from his shirt sleeve.

Eliot tried to think of another way to explain that. He couldn't come up with any appropriate for a five year old.

"Why don't you ask Uncle Alec when you see him in a little bit?" he suggested.

Stephanie nodded, then clutched Eliot's hand tightly as the wheels touched down and the pilot braked hard. Her other hand was reaching for her seat buckle before the plane had even slowed down properly, but Eliot caught hold of it before she could release the catch.

"We need to wait for the pilot to tell us we can undo them, remember?" he said. He could see she wanted to object, but eventually she nodded.

"It won't be long," he reassured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze even as he moved it away from the buckle.

Stephanie took a deep breath – and started kicking her legs against the seat.

"Hey," Eliot let go of her hand to trap her knees. "Just wait."

Fortunately, the plane drew to a halt moments later and the "fasten seatbelts" light blinked off. Stephanie had her seatbelt undone and was back in Eliot's lap in seconds. It felt less frantic this time as she curled into him, like she wasn't just there because she needed to be but to make the point that there was nothing to stop her from getting her way. Eliot huffed out a breath, part laugh, part forced exhalation as she landed solidly on his stomach.

"Okay," he conceded. "I'll carry you, but you need to put your backpack on."

She sat up enough for him to slip the straps over her arms., then reattached herself to his neck. As the people around them gathered belongings, placed phone calls to the people meeting them, and crowded the aisle, Eliot sat back to wait for their turn to exit. When it came, he stood and grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment, fumbling as he distributed its weight and Stephanie's in a way that allowed him to both balance and fit down the narrow aisle. The flight crew was waiting at the front of the plane, bidding the passengers good-bye. Eliot nodded to them as he approached.

"I'm sorry about the fuss at take off," he said. "Thank you for understanding."

He got a tight smile from first flight attendant who had tried to intervene, but a genuine one from the one who had offered help.

"Good luck," she said.

"Thanks," he replied, and ducked through the door into the passageway linking the plane to the airport terminal.


	24. Chapter 24

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: We're headed into the home stretch here - but like any good road race, there is one last hill before the finish line. May all good Leverage fans forgive me for the use to which I am about to put Hardison's character. Please know two things before deciding to hate me forever: 1) I am not entirely happy with it either (Hardison is definitely the hardest character for me to write), but it provided a necessary plot point and is not completely off the believableness scale so I eventually stopped messing with it; and 2) if you can make it through to Chapter 27, I tried to redeem myself...if that doesn't cut it, know that there is about half of a future story waiting in my head in which Hardison is totally the King of Awesome to make up for this! Thus, with trepidation and apologies, here is the next installment..._

Nate, Sophie, Hardison and Parker were all waiting in the arrivals area, watching harried travellers emerge – some hurrying off immediately, looking at their watches and already making phone calls; others waving excitedly to family and friends meeting them.

Nate caught sight of Eliot first, just as he stepped onto the escalator leading down to them. Eliot's eyes, scanning the crowd rapidly, met Nate's and Nate nudged Sophie's arm.

"Look," he said, a quick lift of his chin indicating where he was looking. Sophie followed his gaze and, a moment later, he heard her quick intake of breath as her eyes found the small body twined around Eliot like a baby lemur. Nate had always been amazed at the way small children they ran across in the course of Leverage jobs just assumed Eliot was there for their exclusive benefit – and, perhaps even more, how Eliot seemed to accept this as a fact of life. The man was obviously a born father – or uncle – yet, so far as Nate knew, he spent no time with children outside those brief encounters during jobs. But if Stephanie's behaviour was anything to judge by, the Eliot-magic was still operating at full strength, and Nate's daughter was apparently as susceptible to it as all others.

He watched Eliot wait until they were almost at the bottom of the escalator's descent before alerting Stephanie to Mommy and Daddy's presence. It was a wise move: Stephanie's head spun so fast in their direction that Eliot only narrowly avoided gaining a new bruise to add to the collection just starting to discolour his face, and he was barely able to contain her wriggling efforts to get down long enough for them to reach stationary, solid ground and to step out of the stream of passengers trying to get off the escalator.

Nate and Sophie were moving towards the escalator before Stephanie's feet touched the ground. She took off running, meeting them halfway, and being swept into Sophie's arms, Nate's closing around both of them in turn. As he took in the feel of his daughter's body beneath his hands and the sound of her voice in his ears, Nate raised his eyes to where Eliot still stood ten paces away, watching the reunion.

He was struck by how exhausted the younger man looked, the weight around his eyes telling Nate more than words would about the past twelve hours. He straightened, catching the tired gaze with his own eyes, and nodded – a silent acknowledgement of the unpayable debts stretching between them. One corner of Eliot's mouth quirked up as he returned the nod, eyes going from Nate to Sophie and Stephanie, to Hardison and Parker stepping up behind them, then hitched the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and turned to leave, obviously wanting to save the explanations for later.

Sophie caught the movement as she looked up from her daughter's face, and rose hurriedly from her knees.

"Eliot, wait!" she called.

He stopped, but didn't approach. Had Sophie been thinking at all clearly, she would have noticed the resigned slump to his shoulders as he turned to face her.

"Thank you," Sophie said, knowing the words didn't begin to touch what she wanted to say, but needing to say them anyway.

Normally, Eliot would have been able to hide his reaction. He realised he hadn't when he saw comprehension dawn on Sophie's face that her daughter's return had come at the cost of someone else's life – and at Eliot having taken that life. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Nate stopped her.

"Don't," he murmured, as Eliot turned again and started walking. They both looked down to Stephanie, painfully conscious of what he had done for her... for them. Nate was distracted by these thoughts, so while he heard Hardison's muttered "Dammit. He did it again," behind him, he didn't think anything of it until he saw Hardison stalking after Eliot, cornering the shorter man.

Hardison was hardly a physical threat, whatever height advantage he might have and whatever self-defence training Eliot might have forced on him. What caught Nate's attention was his voice as he confronted Eliot: it was filled with equal parts of annoyance and disappointment, not all that different from the note Nate remembered in his own voice more than a decade ago when Maggie and Sam had talked him into getting a dog whose habit of shredding the morning newspaper Nate had never been able to break.

"This has got to stop, man," Hardison said. "You cannot keep doing this every time there's some kind of threat to us."

And Eliot took it. Hands in his pockets and eyes down, he let Hardison back him into the corner. Not ashamed, but also not arguing.

"How many this time?" Hardison sighed in resignation.

And that was the wrong question. Before Nate could take one step toward the younger men, Hardison was pressed up against the wall with one of Eliot's hands fisted in his shirt.

"You know that ain't the right question," Eliot growled. "How is it better if it's one rather than two, huh? Or twenty, even? It's not about the numbers."

Hardison was wide-eyed, staring down into the fierce face before him as Eliot continued.

"And you don't get to judge me on how I do my job, okay?" Eliot said, voice low but furious. "You weren't there. It was my decision. My choice, got it? And until you're in a position where you're weighing the costs and benefits like I do, until you have the options I do when I'm in that position, you don't get to second guess that choice."

"I do when I'm part of the excuse for that choice," Hardison said. Nate winced at the choice of the word 'excuse' – and maybe Hardison did, too, when he heard his own words. It was hard to tell, because the flare in Eliot's anger in response pushed Hardison harder into the wall.

"No, wait," Hardison went on hurriedly. "Me and Parker, do you think we want you doing those things for us? I mean, we appreciate everything you do to keep us safe, but that – that's way across the line, man. It ain't right, and we don't want it."

"It's not just about you, Hardison," Eliot was right up in Hardison's face now, and airport security as well as several onlookers were starting to take note. "When are you going to get that? What about the people you help? Have you thought about them, huh? Take a look at the bigger picture instead of just your ones and zeroes and the idea you have about how life should work. I don't do it because I think it's right. Hell, I know better than you ever will how wrong it is, and that I'm going to pay for that. But that doesn't change the fact that in as much of the picture as I can see, my doing the 'right' thing will cost a whole lot of other people a whole lot more. You got it?"

Nate decided it was time to intervene. Eliot had once credited Nate with being one of the men who stopped him from falling all the way down into the darkness. As hard as that made watching him take deliberate steps back down the ravine, Nate knew this wasn't the time or place to try to stop him. Even if he understood exactly why Hardison was reacting the way he was.

"That's enough," Nate said, stepping in closer. He waited, feeling the weight of Parker's stare on them, and the flick of Sophie's attention as she fussed over Stephanie. It seemed to take Eliot a conscious effort to unclench the white-knuckled grip he had on Hardison's shirt and step away. He was close enough to Nate as he did so that Nate could feel the fine tremors of adrenalin running through his muscles. Hardison straightened his shirt and cleared his throat, not sure where to look or what to do with himself right then. Eliot ran his tongue over his bottom lip and swallowed twice, dropping his gaze from Hardison's face. He stooped to pick up his bag from where he had dropped it, then turned and stalked off without a backward glance. Nate tracked his progress to the nearby restrooms.

"Hardison, why don't you and the girls go get the car?" Nate suggested, holding out his keys. "I'll meet you out front."

It took Hardison a moment to react, but he reached out and took the keys.

"Nate?" Sophie questioned from behind him. "Everything okay?"

Nate turned. Sophie had Stephanie tucked under one arm, and two pairs of identical dark eyes were fixed on him. Parker stood a little off to the side, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

"What are you going to do?" Parker asked. She sounded almost...protective? Nate raised an eyebrow.

"Just talk," he told you. "Unless you have a better idea?"

Parker shook her head.

"Okay, then," Nate said. He hesitated a moment longer. Sophie thought he was going to say something else, but he just looked again from Parker to Hardison to Stephanie, and, finally, to her, then gave his head a quick shake and walked off in the direction Eliot had taken.

"Where's Daddy going?" Stephanie asked.

Sophie looked down to the face tilted up towards hers.

"He just wants to talk to Eliot," she said.

"Oh," Stephanie said. "I want to go home."

"I know, sweetheart," Sophie said. "He won't be long. Why don't we go and get the car so that we can go straight home when Daddy's done?"

Stephanie looked doubtful. She wanted Mommy and Daddy where she could see them – and preferably keep hold of them. Her grip on Sophie tightened.

"Bunny-Parker is waiting for you in the car," Sophie offered, sweetening the deal.

"Okay," Stephanie said: Bunny-Parker now and Daddy soon would work.

Sophie looked over at Parker and Hardison.

"What about you two?" she asked. "Are you ready?"

Parker was frowning at Hardison, who still looked a little shellshocked. But they both nodded and followed her to the exit.


	25. Chapter 25

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's note: Almost done now! The endings (both of them) will be posted tomorrow, complete with the necessary "choose your own adventure" instructions for anyone who know what kind of ending they are looking for. In the meantime, though, have a little Nate-Eliot one-on-one time._

There were vending machines in the hallway leading to the restrooms that Eliot had turned down. Nate stopped and bought Rolos for Stephanie, and a bottle of water. The men's restroom was fairly busy, but held no sign of Eliot. There was, of course, a good chance Eliot had simply left the airport without Nate seeing him, but Nate didn't think so. He was fairly sure Eliot had been looking for a place to go to ground, however briefly, and knit the shreds of his self-control back together.

The door to the family restroom was locked.

Nate listened at the door for a moment, but didn't hear sounds of anyone inside.

"Eliot," he called quietly through the door. "I'm giving you five seconds to object, and then I'm coming in."

There was no response.

Nate waited the five seconds he had offered, then pulled the lockpick he carried from his wallet. The lock was a joke, and Nate had it open in less than another second. He opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the occupant – whether it turned out to Eliot or some unsuspecting parent and toddler. Peering round it, he could see Eliot on the other side of the small room. He was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up and hands dangling between them. His head was tilted back against the wall, and the blue eyes that met Nate's were calm.

Nate closed and locked the door behind him. He crossed the room and sat down beside Eliot, sliding his eyes sideways to the younger man. Eliot's expression was giving nothing away, but up close, Nate could see faint traces of sweat beading his hairline and upper lip. Knowing his instincts had been correct, he held out the bottle of water.

Eliot didn't look at him, but after a moment, he ran a thumb over his lips and took the bottle.

"Thanks," he said.

Nate nodded.

"Sophie didn't mean it like it sounded," he said. "She wasn't thinking straight."

"I know," Eliot said. "It's fine."

"And Hardison..." Nate trailed off. He wasn't really sure what to say about Hardison's reaction.

Eliot snorted.

"Hardison thinks killing people is a bad habit he can break me of," he said.

Nate smiled humourlessly. That summed up Hardison's attitude exactly.

Eliot unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water and took a sip.

"It's fine, Nate," he said. "I overreacted. A little sleep and some decent food, and everything will be back to normal."

"Mmmm," Nate murmured.

"What?" Eliot looked over at him. "You think this has never happened before? The thank-yous and the recriminations – they're part of the package, Nate. I can deal with them."

"Can you?" Nate asked.

"I have before," Eliot pointed out.

"Not quite like this," Nate said.

"What do you mean?" Eliot asked. "The words don't change."

"No," Nate agreed. "But who is saying them has."

Eliot's mouth shut with an almost audible snap.

"You used to work alone," Nate continued. "Hearing those words from strangers may not be pleasant, but once the conversation's over, you get to walk away. Hearing them from your friends and teammates, from people who know you and whom you see regularly... whose opinions you care about...not really the same thing."

The tension radiating off Eliot again was almost tangible.

"I know why you haven't spoken to your family in years," Nate went on quietly. "And I didn't get the impression you had told Aimee and Willie the details of what you did that time we were down in Kentucky."

"So, what are you saying?" Eliot asked.

"I'm saying that maybe dealing with Sophie's and Hardison's reactions is harder than what you've dealt with before, and maybe more than you can carry."

"I can," Eliot growled. "I have to."

"No, you don't," Nate said.

Eliot sighed, tipping his head forward so that his forehead rested on his wrists.

"It's the best option," Eliot said. "It'll be fine."

"Maybe," Nate said. "But right now, you're sitting on the floor of what, by the smell of it, is a not very clean public restroom. That's not fine, Eliot."

"To be fair, most of the smell is coming from my pants," Eliot told him.

Nate frowned. He knew Eliot had been shaken by the confrontation with Hardison, but surely he hadn't...

"Your daughter peed on me," Eliot explained.

"Oh," Nate said. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Eliot said. "Not hers either."

Nate sat quietly for a moment, thinking it was probably time to have the conversation he had actually come to have.

"I think you need to leave," he said.

Eliot rolled his head to the side to look at Nate but didn't lift it.

"You mean New York?" he asked. "I was planning on it...just need to get some clean pants and a plane ticket."

"No," Nate said. "I think it's time you left 'Leverage'."

Eliot froze, then slowly sat up straight again.

"If you stay," Nate said calmly, "you're going to keep ending up in this position."

"Five years ago you pointed out that the problem with my walking away is that it leaves Parker and Hardison vulnerable. What's changed?" Eliot asked.

"They can get another hitter," Nate hedged. "Not of your calibre perhaps, but good enough, and not torn between the need to protect them and the need to live up to their expectations."

"All that was true five years ago, too," Eliot pointed out. "I don't regret what I did, Nate. I regret that it was necessary, but I will do it again it I have to. I can still keep them safe. So, I'll ask you again, what's changed?"

Nate studied him. Rehashing the argument Eliot had just had with Hardison wouldn't get Nate anywhere: Eliot fully agreed with Hardison that his actions deserved approbation. What bothered him was that Hardison couldn't seem to grasp the fact that he chose to act anyway, to achieve what he saw as a greater good. Likewise, the argument that staying was costing Eliot too much foundered on the fact that he had already accepted the price and didn't see it as grounds for renegotiating the contract. However, if that price no longer bought Parker and Hardison's safety and the team's continued ability to help people...

"I don't think you can," Nate told him. He hurried on as Eliot started to protest. "Not because of what you will or won't do. But...well, let's just say that I didn't anticipate Hardison's reaction. He doesn't trust your judgement anymore, and that means you can't be keep him safe."

Eliot hadn't thought about that side of it. He turned the thought over in his mind for a moment, recognising its truth.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" he asked.

"Walk away," Nate told him again.

"Just like that?" Eliot still couldn't quite believe Nate was advising this.

"Yes," Nate told him. "As long as you're around Hardison and Parker, you're going to feel responsible for protecting them, using all the tools at your disposal. As far as I can see, the only way around that is for you to not be there."

Eliot sighed.

"You're right, "he said.

They sat in silence, Nate waiting as Eliot redrew his plans.

"D'you think you could persuade Parker and Hardison to hang out here with you guys for a few days?" Eliot asked eventually. "Give me a chance to do a few things in Portland without interference?"

"I can do that," Nate agreed. "Do you want me to tell them you won't be there when they go back?"

Eliot's eyes shot to his.

"What?" Nate asked. "You think I don't still know you? What was your plan: a note on the fridge?"

"Something like that," Eliot admitted ruefully. He shrugged. "Tell them if you want to."

Nate nodded.

"Okay," Nate said, pushing to his feet, knees creaking in reminder that he was too old to spend much time sitting on hard floors these days. He brushed off his pants then, considering where he had been sitting, crossed to the sink to wash his hands. In the mirror, Eliot was unmoving. Nate didn't think he had ever seen the man look lost before.

"You have any ideas about where you're going to go?" Nate asked.

Eliot's eyes lifted slowly to meet his in the reflection.

"Nah," he said. "Geography doesn't matter that much...Australia, maybe. I haven't been there in a while."

"You could learn to surf," Nate suggested, turning around to dry his hands and then lean back against the counter.

"Yeah."

"You already know how to surf?"

"Maybe."

The conversation petered out again. But when Nate straightened as if about to move towards the door, Eliot found more to say.

"Nate," he stopped the older man. "That number I gave Sophie – the one she called for Stephanie ...Will you make sure Parker and Hardison have it and know they should use it if they ever need to?"

Nate hesitated.

"You want both of them to have it?" he asked. "You know the first thing Hardison's going to do is track it."

"He can try," Eliot replied.

Nate's eyebrows headed for his hairline, but Eliot wasn't giving more than that away.

"Okay," Nate said. "Anything else?"

Eliot shook his head.

"Well, I have a few things to say," Nate said, then paused, wanting to be sure he had Eliot's full attention. "First, if you need anything – or even just want something – call."

Nate stopped, waiting for Eliot's nod of acknowledgement. He didn't think Eliot would ever place that call, but he once again wanted him to know the option was real.

"Second," Nate continued, "what the team gave you, that way of putting some good back into the world, you can find that in other ways – now that you know what you're looking for."

Eliot's eyes slid away from Nate's, but, after a moment, he nodded again. When he looked back, Nate gave him a brief smile.

"And when you're ready," he said, "I would be proud to introduce you to my daughter. Properly. And I'm glad Maggie knows you, and I wish Sam had had the chance."

That lost him Eliot's eyes, which were suddenly fixed in intense contemplation of his own hands.

"I should get going," Nate said when it became clear Eliot wasn't going to respond. "And let you find some clean pants and a hotel to grab some sleep. Can I get you anything before I go?"

"No," Eliot said, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks, Nate."

Nate didn't acknowledge that with anything more than a tilt of his head as he let himself out of the restroom. But Eliot heard the tumblers of the lock fall closed behind him, and knew Nate was giving him a bit more time to work through what had been said. He didn't stay long. Once a decision had been made, there was not much point on dwelling on the what-ifs and maybes. So, once Eliot judged enough time had passed that no-one would notice a second single man emerging from the family restroom, he stood, washed his hands and face, and left. He didn't want to think about how many times he had pieced a life together from the tattered remains of previous ones in the past. He could do it again - would do it again. But the thought left him feeling incredibly old.

* * *

_Extra author's note: Just a reminder to read the author's note in the next chapter carefully - this story wound up with 2 endings, one happier than the other. If you know for sure you only want one the happier option, go ahead and skip straight to the second ending (Chapter 27)._


	26. Chapter 26

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Okay, y'all, so here we are - at the end, finally. Thank you for sticking it out! But first, the important stuff. _

_IF YOU ONLY WANT THE HAPPIER ENDING, GO STRAIGHT TO CHAPTER 27. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT 200 DOLLARS, POUNDS, OR ANY OTHER CURRENCY AVAILABLE IN MONOPOLY. __(The rest of the author's note is repeated in there, so you can read it there if you are interested in knowing the story of the multiple endings.)_

_And now for the explanation: This story ended up with 2 1/2 endings: the "1/2" was the ending I originally intended, back when the whole Sophie-and-Nate-call-Eliot-to-rescue-their-daughte r arc was going to be 2 paragraphs in a short epilogue...obviously, that one did not work out. Chapter 26 is the ending that wrote itself when I got to the end of what is now called Chapter 25. Read it if you dare. It's short, and, I think, an authentic ending to this fic. Chapter 27 is what happened when, round about Chapter 14 or 15, I scrolled back through the reviews and realized people were fairly invested in having it all work out, not just right, but happy AND right in the end. Which, let's face it, is what Leverage is all about. Soooo... I gave it a shot. It took 5,000 words, and a ridiculously long Eliot-and-Hardison conversation, but eventually got to a happy place that hopefully also works with the rest of the story. If you don't like Chapter 26 as an ending, give that one a try. I considered splitting it into smaller chunks, but ultimately decided that would make the "choose your own adventure" ending instructions way too complicated...hopefully the internal breaks make it digestible. :) _

_And, finally, for the "parting is such sweet sorrow" speech: I had a blast writing this story - and a second one watching y'all read it. I hope you had as much fun as I did. To the faithful reviewers: Thank you so much for the kind and insightful comments! I learnt a lot about where my strengths and weaknesses as a fiction writer lie from your reactions, questions, and exclamation points - all of which will hopefully lead to more and better stories in the future. :) To those who simply read and enjoyed: thank you too. This website tracks numbers of visitors and hits by both day and chapter - from which I learnt that most people who started reading have kept coming back for more (which really warms the cold, dark cockles of an author's heart) and that Chapter 8 is the one that gets the most hits (if anyone would like to explain why, I am deeply curious...I mean, yes, it is as close to shirtless-Eliot as this story got, but he did still have at least one layer on :)). And so, until next time, good-bye. There will almost definitely be a next time...I just need to either get over the guilt of how much my brain seems to like torturing Eliot, or come up with a more original plot...suggestions on how to tackle either of those are welcome!_

* * *

And so the Leverage story came to an end. Well, not an end exactly. Parker and Hardison continued doing what they did best, and Leverage International tipped the scales of justice in the right direction much as it had before – if a little more circumspectly than when their safety was guaranteed by the invincible force of Eliot Spencer. And Nate and Sophie raised their daughter to know the difference between "fair" and "legal" – and to have fun filling the cracks between.

Nate would sometimes brood on the wisdom of sending Eliot away, and Sophie would remind him that he had to do it because Eliot never would have for himself.

Sophie would occasionally scroll through her contacts list, thumb hovering over the button that would connect the call she never made for a few seconds, before shaking her head briskly, and moving on.

Hardison had tried to trace that same number but, to his immense consternation, failed. Repeatedly. He periodically mentioned that there were other things he could try to track Eliot down – no-one could stay completely off the grid anymore without actually being a hermit living on a mountain top – but Parker always talked him out of it.

"I miss him, too," she told him. "But we can't ask him to come back and not do what he needs to."

"He doesn't have to work with us," Hardison would protest. "He could just come back as our friend...Hell, he doesn't even have to come back: just check in occasionally for a beer and a game."

And Parker would frown in confusion, never understanding why he didn't get it.

"But working with us wasn't the problem," she tried to explain. "Being our friend was."

Nate sometimes thought he saw Eliot – usually at one of Stephanie's plays or dance recitals. During the final bows, his daughter would always smile and wave for Mommy and Daddy (and their cameras), but sometimes her eyes would wander out over the audience to the back of the auditorium and her face would light up like a thousand candles. If Nate turned fast enough, he might catch a glimpse of a muscular silhouette at the back of the hall or, more likely, an auditorium door just falling closed. But it was never enough to be certain, and, if questioned, Stephanie always said it was just the excitement of the performance having gone well and the thrill of the applause that made her smile extra wide. She was her mother's daughter, however, and not above pulling one over on Daddy if she could. So, while Nate could never discredit her claim – and, certainly, the nights in question were always those when a little extra magic seemed to swirl about the stage and seep out into the audience – he liked to think it was Eliot. And in between times, he pictured the man out on a sundrenched ranch somewhere, surrounded by horses, and freedom, and space, where the light was so pervasive that all the shadows burnt away.

And Eliot, Eliot was... elsewhere; doing...things that needed to be done. And yes, he had learnt that there were other ways for a man with a certain set of skills to put good back into the world, and, yes, he was doing them. But he hadn't looked for new partners or sought out any old teammates, or family or friends. Because, when your skills made you a finely honed and very lethal weapon, it was sometimes best to not have people for whom you felt compelled to apply those skills too close.

* * *

_The End._


	27. Chapter 27

_See Chapter 1 for disclaimers._

_Author's Note: Okay, y'all, so here we are - at the end, finally. Thank you for sticking it out! _

_And now for the explanation of the multiple endings: This story ended up with 2 1/2 endings: the "1/2" was the ending I originally intended, back when the whole Sophie-and-Nate-call-Eliot-to-rescue-their-daughte r arc was going to be 2 paragraphs in a short epilogue...obviously, that one did not work out. Chapter 26 is the ending that wrote itself when I got to the end of what is now called Chapter 25. Read it if you dare. It's short, and, I think, an authentic ending to this fic. Chapter 27 is what happened when, round about Chapter 14 or 15, I scrolled back through the reviews and realized people were fairly invested in having it all work out, not just right, but happy AND right in the end. Which, let's face it, is what Leverage is all about. Soooo... I gave it a shot. It took 5,000+ words, and a ridiculously long Eliot-and-Hardison conversation, but eventually got to a happy place that hopefully also works with the rest of the story. If you don't like Chapter 26 as an ending, give that one a try. I considered splitting it into smaller chunks, but ultimately decided that would make the "choose your own adventure" ending instructions way too complicated...hopefully the internal breaks make it digestible. :) _

_And, finally, for the "parting is such sweet sorrow" speech: I had a blast writing this story - and a second one watching y'all read it. I hope you had as much fun as I did. To the faithful reviewers: Thank you so much for the kind and insightful comments! I learnt a lot about where my strengths and weaknesses as a fiction writer lie from your reactions, questions, and exclamation points - all of which will hopefully lead to more and better stories in the future. :) To those who simply read and enjoyed: thank you too. This website tracks numbers of visitors and hits by both day and chapter - from which I learnt that most people who started reading have kept coming back for more (which really warms the cold, dark cockles of an author's heart) and that Chapter 8 is the one that gets the most hits (if anyone would like to explain why, I am deeply curious...I mean, yes, it is as close to shirtless-Eliot as this story got, but he did still have at least one layer on :)). And so, until next time, good-bye. There will almost definitely be a next time...I just need to either get over the guilt of how much my brain seems to like torturing Eliot, or come up with a more original plot...suggestions on how to tackle either of those are welcome!_

* * *

It was two years before Nate saw Eliot again. Well, thought he saw Eliot. It was after Stephanie's school play – her first speaking part. The children crowded on stage for their final bows, jostling for positions at the back or front depending on how shy they were or weren't in public. Stephanie, never one to hide from the limelight, was front and centre, waving enthusiastically to her parents (and their cameras), and drinking in the sound of applause. Her eyes drifted away from Sophie and Nate, widening as she took in the size of the audience, apparently for the first time, and then fixing on a point near the back of the school auditorium. Her smile grew even brighter and Nate thought he saw her suck in an enormous breath as if about to yell out across the noise, when her grin turned suddenly into a puzzled frown, followed by a conspiratorial smile and a facial contortion that was probably meant to be a wink. He whipped his head around to follow the direction of her gaze just in time to see a muscular silhouette slipping out the rear door of the auditorium. Nate and Sophie were buried too deep in audience for Nate to have a chance of catching up, so he turned back to his smiling daughter on the stage and his wife weeping tears of pride, joy, and laughter beside him. That didn't stop him from scanning the crowd of parents and grandparents as they milled around the foyer after the play, consuming coffee and cake and waiting for their offspring to reappear. Not surprisingly, there was no sign of Eliot, or of anyone who looked remotely like him.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Nate heard Stephanie calling above the chatter of the crowd and the rattle of coffee cups against saucers. He looked up to see her breaking away from a pack of her classmates and charging down the stairs towards them, hair and costume streaming out behind her. Nate swept her up into the air just before she barrelled into them.

"You were fantastic," he said, giving her a hug and a kiss. "The star of the show!"

Stephanie giggled.

"I only had two lines, Daddy," she told him.

"The two most important lines," he retorted, settling her onto his hip, then having to make a mad grab as she lurched sideways to hug Sophie and accept her congratulations. "Should I be booking tickets for the Oscars or the Tonys?"

Stephanie righted herself, face flushed with laughter and excitement.

"Both!" she told him.

"Both, huh? Well, it's plain to see you don't lack ambition," Nate gave her a playful bounce as he teased her, and she giggled again. "So, who were you winking at, at the end there? Aren't you a little young to be flirting with your fans like that, young lady?"

Stephanie frowned at him.

"Just you and Mommy," she said. "What's flirting?"

Nate groaned. Given that this was Sophie's daughter, he had probably just created a monster.

"A very important skill that I will teach you in a few years, darling," Sophie answered from next to him. "In the meantime, who wants ice-cream?"

And so, the subject was dropped. Nate tried to question Stephanie once or twice more in the days that followed, and again months later when her dance recital had a similar ending (although, he noted, with a slightly better approximation of a wink), but each time she just frowned at him as if she didn't understand why he was asking, or as if he should already know the answer. Parker and Hardison had been with him and Sophie at the dance recital, but none of the other three adults mentioned seeing anyone unusual in the crowd. It was their third visit after Stephanie's kidnapping: in the months following they had stayed away, worried that contact placed their friends in greater danger, but Nate and Sophie had refused to either live or raise their daughter in that kind of fear. After months of silence from the younger two, and endless questions from Stephanie about when Aunt Parker and Uncle Alec were going to visit again (And was Eliot going to come too? Because Aunt Parker said he made the best French toast and she wanted to see if it was really better than Daddy's.), Sophie and Nate had convinced them that the benefits outweighed the risks, and the sporadic visits and family holidays had been reinstated. And if Hardison took some extra precautions to cover their tracks and lay false trails, well, that didn't mean he was paranoid – just cautious and getting a little extra practice on some useful skills.

Parker overheard Nate questioning Stephanie about the final bows. He saw her frown and tilt her head to one side, but at some point over the years, Parker had learnt some discretion, so she saved her questions until they were back at Nate and Sophie's house, hanging back with him as the others went inside. By this time, she had put two and two together, getting four as well as three, seven and eight.

"You think Stephanie saw Eliot?" she asked bluntly. "Do you think he will come back?"

Nate was a little startled. Without day-to-day exposure, Parker's head on approach and occasional uncanny insights tended to blindside him.

"I don't know," he said. He told her about what he thought he had seen after Stephanie's school play, months earlier. "If it was him, I'm not sure what to make of the fact he's letting Stephanie see him but avoiding Sophie and myself. I don't suppose he's dropped by Portland for a beer with you and Hardison?"

Parker shook her head, a doubtful expression falling across her face.

"What is it?" Nate asked.

"It's just...Should we even be hoping he does come back?" Parker blurted out. "I mean, I want him to; it doesn't feel right without him. But being around us was breaking him, and I don't want to see that happen again. So maybe he needs to stay away, even if coming back seems like what we should all want."

Nate sighed.

"I know, Parker," he said. "And Eliot recognised that, too. I don't think he would come back unless he thought he could do so without ending up in that position again. Maybe what we can hope for is that he finds a way to do that?"

Parker studied her shoes for a minute, wondering if that was possible without requiring Eliot to stop being Eliot. But maybe, she thought, that was exactly what he needed to do. Which raised the question of whether she would want him back as not-Eliot. Her gut wrenched in immediate answer to that: Yes, she wanted him back in any version she could get. And she knew Hardison felt the same way... providing it wasn't a version that killed people. So she looked back up into Nate's eyes and nodded. Filled with a sudden burst of joy at the permission he had given her to hope for Eliot's return, she threw her arms around Nate in an abrupt hug, then ran off. Heard her calling for Stephanie and Hardison to accompany her to the nearby park, which had a satisfyingly high set of swings and a beginners' climbing wall on which she was teaching Stephanie some basic life skills.

* * *

Months passed again without any sign the status quo would change, and Nate's conversation with Parker faded to the back of his mind. So when an invitation to a restaurant opening showed up in the mail, he didn't think anything of it. He wasn't being entirely oblivious: Sophie attracted invitations to all kinds of events – far more than they could attend even if they wanted to - and they had both got used to classifying them at a glance as "yes", "maybe", or "definitely not" based purely in date, geography, and vague impression of what the event involved. Geography put this on in the "definitely not" category, so Nate didn't look further before dropping it onto the pile of mail to be shredded and recycled. The invitation flipped over as he discarded it, and Sophie caught sight of a handwritten not scribbled on the back: _Lamb chops and schnitzel are on the menu...Grilled cheese, too, if it's still Stephanie's favourite._

"Nate!" Sophie exclaimed, snatching up the printed card. "Look. It's Eliot."

Nate took the card as she handed it back to him, studying the note, then turning it back over to look at the information about the restaurant printed there. Nate hoped this wasn't Eliot's idea of a marketing campaign because "minimal" would be an understatement of the lack of detail. He had also only given then two days warning.

"Well, I guess that answers the question about what we're doing for dinner on Saturday," he said.

"Do you think he's contacted Hardison and Parker?" Sophie asked.

"I don't know," Nate told her. "I guess we'll have to wait and ask him...Are you okay with keeping Stephanie out that late? It's going to take us at least an hour to drive out there."

"For this? Absolutely," she told him. "Does the invitation say how to RSVP?"

Nate perused the sparse information again and shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "It looks like Eliot might need some help on the marketing and management front."

"Oh, I'm sure he has that in hand," Sophie said, looking over his shoulder. "I think he just doesn't want to know ahead of time if we're not coming."

Nate was sceptical, but had learnt not to argue with Sophie when she got that particular tone in her voice.

* * *

Saturday night found the Ford family smartly dressed and pulling up to the valet stand outside one of the latest restaurants to join the food scene in the greater New York area. The location was good, being in an area just tipping over into trendy enough to attract the young professionals looking for an active night-time social scene, but close enough to several large office buildings to pull in a steady lunch and happy hour crowd, and not so far from a couple of family neighbourhoods that Eliot's cooking wasn't likely to make it a staple "date night" option for moms and dads looking to forget their responsibilities for an evening.

Nate's doubts about Eliot's marketing strategy proved groundless as they stepped into the restaurant's bustling first night – despite the fact that they had arrived, as the invitation had indicated, after the typical dinner rush was over. Most of the bustle came from the walk-ins crowding the lobby as they waited for tables. When Nate approached the hostess stand to give their name, he learnt that Eliot had realised his restaurant's location was going to do half his advertising for him, so, rather than risking the resentment that an invitation-only opening night might have fostered, he had issued invitations to fill only two-thirds of the tables. The remainder of the restaurant, including the bar area, were operating as if it was a regular night.

The name "Ford" got an immediate reaction from the woman running the hostess stand, and Nate, Sophie and Stephanie barely had time to take in the layout of the restaurant's interior before being whisked back to their table. The table was in the part of the restaurant furthest from the bar, and was set for six. Through the window beside it they could see a patio, strung with fairy lights that would be immensely popular during the warmer months. But now, with the chill of fall already in the air, the patio was closed and fires glowed in the two large fireplaces at opposite ends of the restaurant. Nate, Sophie, and Stephanie looked around as they took their seats; Stephanie's eyes in particular were as wide as saucers. They hadn't told her anything except that it was opening night for a friend's restaurant – and, to be honest, she hadn't been interested in many details beyond how late she would be allowed to stay up. The hostess murmured something about their waiter being with them momentarily for drinks orders, and left. Sophie cocked an eyebrow at the three empty seats at their table.

"I guess that answers the question about whether Hardison and Parker were invited," she said.

Nate just nodded, but Stephanie was curious.

"Are Aunt Parker and Uncle Alec coming too?" she asked.

"We hope so, sweetie," Sophie told her. "But we haven't had a chance to talk to them in a while. They might be travelling or busy with something else tonight."

"Oh," Stephanie said, a little disappointed that they weren't definitely coming, but still working through the question of why they would also have been invited. "So do they know your friend, too? Is that why they might be coming?"

Nate and Sophie's eyes met ruefully over her head. Surprising her was getting harder every year.

"Yes, they do," Nate told her.

And it was probably just as well that Eliot came out of the kitchen just then, because Nate could already see the next question forming on Stephanie's lips, and he wasn't entirely sure they could have kept her out of the kitchen once she realised her very own superhero was just through those doors. The reunion proved dramatic enough as things stood.

Stephanie caught sight of him heading towards their table before either of her parents did. Her mouth fell slowly open as she watched him walk towards them. It had been almost four years since he had brought her home from the nightmare warehouse in Kansas, and she was no longer sure how many of her memories from those days were real. Sometimes she even wondered if she had dreamed Eliot, but here he was in front of her.

"Eliot!" she called across the room as she got her mouth working again. She scrambled off her chair and took off towards him, dodging the other patrons, the waitresses and waiters, and furniture as she hurtled across the room. She didn't stop or even slow down when she got close; she barrelled straight into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist – the Parker approach to hugs.

Eliot stood still as Stephanie crashed into him, looking over at Nate and Sophie in confusion. He had expected her to be shy or scared of him and the memories he must surely evoke for her, not this exuberance. Nate and Sophie just smiled, rising out of their seats. Eliot looked down at the top of Stephanie's head. He couldn't believe how fast she had grown. His arms closed gently around her shoulders in a hug.

"Don't you think we should be introduced before carrying on like this in public?" he teased her.

Stephanie tilted her head back to look at him, but didn't let go.

"But we've already met," he told him.

"We have," he agreed. "But meeting and being introduced aren't quite the same thing."

She frowned at him.

"But you gave me a bath," she pointed out. "And braided my hair. Why do we still need to be introduced?"

Eliot chuckled.

"Those are good points," he said. "But your dad once offered to make a proper introduction, and I want to take him up on it."

His eyes left Stephanie's to find Nate's, knowing that request would answer the older man's questions about what tonight was supposed to be.

Stephanie heaved a sigh.

"Grown-ups are weird," she said, but she released her hold around Eliot's waist and took his hand instead. "Come on," she added, leading him towards Sophie and Nate.

She stopped in front of Nate and dropped Eliot's hand.

"Daddy, Eliot wants you to introduce us properly before I hug him. Can you do it now, please?" she demanded, then turned to face Eliot.

It took all the acting skills Sophie had coaxed out of Nate for him to keep a reasonably steady voice as he complied, overwhelmed with both the absurdity and the significance of the moment. Hands resting lightly on his daughter's shoulders he faced his former teammate and friend.

"Eliot, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Stephanie," Nate said. "Stephanie, this is my friend, Eliot."

Solemnly, Stephanie held out her hand to Eliot.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Eliot," she said.

Eliot took the hand that was offered.

"It's nice to meet you too, Stephanie," he said, just as solemnly.

She grinned at him as he let go.

"Now can I hug you?" she asked.

Eliot gave her a mock glare.

"You already did," he said.

"Fine," she said, not at all offended. "Then you should hug Mommy and Daddy instead."

Oddly, that took the awkwardness out of the moment with Nate and Sophie. Eliot was standing nearest Nate so he greeted him first, stepping in closer for a hug. It was brief – just long enough for Nate to steal the words Eliot had planned with a low-keyed "Welcome home" in Eliot's ear as they pulled back. Eliot nodded, taking a steadying breath as he stepped back and then around Stephanie's chair to where Sophie was waiting.

The emotional stuff was always easiest with Sophie because she knew where the boundaries were and exactly how far past them she could push. Rather than going straight for a hug she held him off a little way with a hand on his cheek as she searched his eyes. Finding the calm and clarity she remembered from Boston and Portland, her last anxieties were swept out across the rolling plains and wide blue skies his eyes once again held. She drew him the last few inches into an embrace, no words needing to pass between them. As they stepped back, Sophie deliberately turned the conversation toward the mundane, asking if he was going to be able to have dinner with them.

Eliot looked around the restaurant, then at his watch.

"I hope so," he said, as Sophie and Nate sat down again. "I honestly didn't think it was going to be this busy when I sent you that invitation, though...Speaking of which, I should probably go make sure no-one's trying to burn down the kitchen."

"It would be disappointing if your restaurant burned down before we even had a chance to try the food," Nate agreed. "Should we wait for Hardison and Parker, or go ahead and order?"

Eliot hesitated.

"I don't know for sure that they're coming," he said. "But if they are, they should be here soon."

"Okay," Nate said. "Why don't we given them a bit more time, and then order when we get hungry?"

"Sure," Eliot replied.

"But I'm hungry now, Daddy!" Stephanie piped up, less pleased with this proposal than the adults.

Eliot chuckled.

"How about I send out some appetizers in the meantime?" he suggested.

Stephanie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, please," she said.

"Coming right up," Eliot replied, turning to head back into the kitchen.

* * *

Stephanie had eaten one and half appetizers, and Nate and Sophie were halfway through a bottle of wine before Parker and Hardison arrived. The dinner rush was starting to die down; the crowd waiting in the foyer for tables had dissipated but the restaurant was still full as the hostess led Parker and Hardison between the tables and over to join Sophie, Nate, and Stephanie. After a quick round of greetings had been exchanged, Parker demanded to know where Eliot was.

"He's making sure the kitchen doesn't burn down," Stephanie told her, before either Nate or Sophie could answer.

With nothing more than a quick glance around to locate the kitchen, Parker was gone. Hardison pulled out the empty chair beside Nate and sat down.

"Are you sure letting her surprise him in a room full of knives, fire and boiling liquids is wise?" Nate asked him.

"It's too late to stop her," Hardison said ruefully.

He seemed subdued. Nate and Sophie exchanged glances.

"Hardison, is everything okay?" Sophie asked.

His eyes met hers across the table.

"I think so," he said. Then, pulling an invitation card from his jacket pocket, he handed it to Sophie, saying, "I'm just not quite sure what to make of this."

_This_ turned out to be the handwritten note on the copy of the invitation Eliot had sent to Hardison and Parker. Instead of the menu offerings Nate and Sophie had received, this one just said: _I owe you both an apology. E._

Sophie read the message and handed the card to Nate.

"I see," Nate said. "Well, I think Eliot's the only one who can help you with that. All I can suggest is, think carefully before you say anything."

Hardison nodded, but didn't get a chance to reply before Parker reappeared, an exasperated Eliot being propelled beside her by the firm grip she had on his arm.

"I told you twice I was going to come out here in a minute," Eliot grumbled. "Why couldn't you just wait until I finished that raspberry sauce."

Parker didn't reply, but wore a very determined look as she moved Eliot towards Hardison.

Hardison stood, eyes moving back and forth between Parker and Eliot's faces.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," Eliot replied. He looked around the rest of the group. "Listen, do y'all mind waiting just a little bit longer for dinner? I'd like to talk to Hardison and Parker for a minute first."

Nate and Sophie nodded. Eliot looked to the other two.

"You two okay with that?" he asked.

"Sure," Hardison said, stepping away from the table and pushing in his chair.

Parker let go of Eliot's arm and took Hardison's hand instead.

"You want to go somewhere a bit less public?" Hardison asked.

Eliot nodded.

"Let's go out there," he said, nodding towards the empty patio. "This shouldn't take long."

Nate and Sophie watched the three of them through the window. Parker settled down immediately on one of the benches outside. She and Eliot had presumably had their reunion when she slipped into the kitchen and disrupted his sauce making. Eliot and Hardison's body language suggested an inauspicious start to their conversation: Eliot was prowling the short side of the patio in front of the bench Parker was sitting on, while Hardison stood next to it, watching warily. After a moment, Hardison slowly sat down too, and Eliot drew to a halt in front of them, running a hand through his hair as if he wasn't quite sure where to begin.

* * *

Outside, Hardison finally took pity on his former colleague.

"Just spit it out, man," he told Eliot.

Eliot huffed a sigh, but let his arms drop to his sides, looking a little more relaxed.

"I wanted to apologise," he said.

Hardison frowned.

"For leaving?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eliot told him. "For leaving, and for needing to leave...All of it. I was supposed to watch your backs, but I couldn't do that and be who you needed me to be...and I couldn't let go of who I wanted to be to you. I let you guys down, and I'm sorry."

Parker gave him a small, tight smile, but she wasn't the one Eliot was worried about. He knew Parker had always understood why he had left. Her only reproach when she found him in the kitchen had been that she had missed him.

Hardison was still sorting through what Eliot had said. He couldn't help but notice that Eliot hadn't said he was sorry for taking the lives of those people who had threatened the team. Eliot read that thought in Hardison's face.

"I can't apologise for that," he said softly. "What I did kept all of us alive. Being sorry for that would be like someone who needed a heart transplant wishing the organ donor hadn't got into a car accident, or whatever. I can wish it hadn't been necessary, but I wouldn't want to change the end result so I can't truly be sorry."

"But you're not doing that, anymore?" Hardison asked.

Eliot shook his head.

"No," he said. "I run a cooking school and a dojo for kids coming out of juvie...kind of like what Toby has in Portland. And now I'm trying to run a restaurant. That's what I do these days."

"So you don't want to come and work with us again?" Hardison asked. His voice cracked a little on the question, but Eliot couldn't tell if it was with trepidation or disappointment.

"Of course I want to, Hardison," Eliot told him. "The team and the work we did was probably the best part of my life. But I don't think I can come back without us ending up in the exact same place we were before."

Hardison nodded. Somewhere inside him, the last piece of hope that they could put the team back together some day, was falling away.

"Why are we here, then?" he asked. "If working with us again isn't an option, why did you ask us to come tonight?"

Eliot looked at him in exasperation.

"You're the one who first said we were more than a team," Eliot reminded him. "I guess I was hoping we could salvage some of the rest of it."

"You mean you miss us?" Hardison let a teasing note creep into his voice. He nudged Parker beside him. "You hear that, mama? Eliot misses us!"

Parker gave him a smile, but still didn't say anything.

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot growled, but had to stop there, because there wasn't really anything to yell at Hardison about.

Hardison stood, squaring off in front of Eliot.

"We miss you, too," he said. "On and off the job. So if phone calls and occasional visits are as far as it can go, we'll take it. If you can manage more than that, we'll welcome you with open arms...If it needs to be less, that's fine too."

"Thank you," Eliot said.

"Just promise me one thing, E," Hardison demanded, stepping closer and crowding into Eliot's personal space so that they were standing almost chest-to-chest. Eliot met his eyes warily.

"Don't ever," Hardison's hands came up to close on Eliot's shoulders, giving him a little shake, "Don't ever just disappear like that again, okay?"

"I left a note," Eliot protested.

Hardison snorted.

"You left a recipe for lasagne for the Brewpub and instructions to call you in an emergency, and then you disappeared for two years without any kind of clue as to where you might be or what you were doing," he said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly have a detailed itinerary at the time, " Eliot said, shrugging Hardison's hands off his shoulders.

"You could have checked in occasionally," Hardison pointed out. "Let us know that you were doing okay."

Eliot was shaking his head.

"I needed a clean break, Hardison. Some time and space to figure out where things had broken down and how to patch over it."

"Well, it would have been nice to know that you weren't behind the various assassinations on the political and criminal scenes the last couple of years – either those that were reported officially or the ones that are still just rumours," Hardison argued.

Eliot looked suckerpunched.

"That's what you thought I was doing?" he asked.

"I didn't know what to think, man," Hardison told him, voice clashing with Parker's "No," from beside them.

Both men looked over at her, but she just shrugged and reverted to silence.

"Look," Hardison tried to explain after a moment, "it's not like I don't know you'll do that when you think there's a good enough reason. I thought maybe when you left us, you went back to work with Vance or your friend Shelley or something...I didn't think you'd gone back to working for guys like Moreau or anything."

Eliot studied him, hands sliding into his pockets.

"And if I had been working with Vance?" he asked.

"But you weren't," Hardison said. A statement, not a question.

"I could have," Eliot said quietly. "I could still."

"But – " Hardison started, then cut himself off.

"But if I had, I wouldn't have invited you here tonight?" Eliot guessed. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Hardison nodded.

Eliot cursed under his breath.

"Well, I guess that answers the question about what tonight is," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" Hardison asked.

Eliot considered his options. He could walk away now and cut his losses. Or he could turn that choice over to Hardison and let the chips fall where they may.

"Look," he said, "that hasn't changed from back when we first worked together. You may not have been aware of it, but it was always something I was capable of and something, that on occasion, was worth its price. If knowing that is a problem, then tonight was just a chance for me to apologise and for you and Parker to have dinner with Sophie and Nate."

Hardison swallowed, mouth going dry as he realised the choice Eliot was placing before him.

"What would you do, then?" he asked.

Eliot turned to look at the restaurant he had put together, at the people inside eating, and the students from his cooking school intermingled with other staff he had hired, weaving between the tables with trays piled high with food or drinks or dirty dishes. It would be a wrench, but he could still walk away. He turned back to Hardison.

"I would go inside and finish making dinner," he said. "Then, tomorrow I'd start looking for someone to run this place and I would call Toby to find a replacement chef for the cooking school, and I would move on."

"And the alternative?" Hardison asked.

"To trust me," Eliot told him. "Trust me to know where the line between right and wrong falls, and to manage my own balancing act along it. I'll probably screw up sometimes, but I'm looking to stay on the right side of it. And when I'm not emotionally tied up in the outcome, I'm better at seeing where it is."

Hardison licked his dry lips. A slideshow of pictures running behind his eyes – of Eliot, pulling him to his feet when he tripped on the way out the warehouse that was about to explode on their first job; putting himself between a threat and one of the members of the team or a client; calling Nate out when his plans pushed too far either into danger or over the line into just plain "wrong"; joining Parker _inside_ the Steranko when he could have walked away undetected; helping Hardison stop a backwoods militia terrorist plot when he again could have walked away; standing in a sunny park and baring the stains on his soul to the team at Hardison's insistence; holding – according to Sophie – a gun on Dubenich and being unable to kill the prone man even to prevent Nate from doing so; taking two bullets to give Parker and Hardison the time they needed to defuse and destroy the device that would have unleashed a global pandemic of the Spanish flu... all the hitters and security men he fought over the years and left unconscious or immobilised but alive and breathing... Picture after picture rushed by. But always in the background the sound of two necks snapping and two bodies falling to the floor. Hardison flinched.

He was taking too long.

As the silence stretched out, Eliot's face grew grimmer and he realised he didn't actually want to hear Hardison say the words when he reached inevitable conclusion.

"Never mind," he said, turning to go.

Parker was frozen on the bench, not quite believing that history was repeating itself and not knowing how to stop it.

It was the soft sound of boots moving quietly across concrete that finally drowned out the noise in Hardison's ears. Even so, Eliot was several steps away before he got his mouth working again.

"Wait. Eliot," Hardison called after him.

Eliot stopped.

"You can't just ask a question like that and then walk away without waiting for an answer!"

Eliot shrugged.

"It was a simple question, Hardison," he said. "It was pretty clear what your answer was going to be."

"You know I like to overthink things," Hardison reminded him, closing the distance between them slowly. "But I'm done with this one now...I trust you, Eliot."

"But?" Eliot asked, expecting a qualifier.

Hardison shook his head.

"No buts," he reiterated. "I trust you."

Eliot looked from him to Parker, who was now hovering behind Hardison's left shoulder, a hopeful expression forming on her face.

"Okay," he said.

"So," Hardison was hitting his stride again and he fixed Eliot with a comically fierce look. "That brings us back to the promise I want. No disappearing on us again, right?"

"Okay," Eliot said again. He figured the reservation that he would if it was necessary to protect them was implied.

"Good," Hardison affirmed. "Now we just need to hug it out, and then we can go back inside and eat."

He reached for Eliot, who swatted his arm away, growling about Hardison's and his everlasting neediness for hugs and ducking away from two more attempts.

"C'mon man," Hardison threw his arms open wide. "For morale!"

And Eliot finally conceded, wrapping Hardison in a bear-hug as Parker swooped in from the side, pressed along his side within Hardison's long-armed embrace.

* * *

Watching from the table inside, where Nate was trying to keep a bored Stephanie entertained with cardtricks beside her, Sophie looked away from the three roughhousing lightly with a satisfied smile.

"I think,"" she told Nate as she reached for her wine glass, "that we're all going to be okay now."

* * *

_The End._


End file.
